


Percival Rex

by L_M_Biggs



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Attempted Rape, Body Horror, Dom/sub Undertones, Incest, M/M, Mpreg, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, absolutely shameless, and those of you who followed me on tumblr know it, for those of you who recall, genderfluid credence barebone, i just can't stand looking at it taking up real estate in my drive anymore, im tagging it just in case, it's been in the works for well over a year, lots of incest, older man graves, self entitled OC, so here's the tag warnings, so you guys get the full, there might be some breeding kink in here too, theres romance but it's not healthy, this fic features Obedience Barebone, this fic is shameless, this should be considered something of a horror story, torture and mutilation, uncut unedited barely betaed version of this horrorshow of a fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-05
Updated: 2018-02-05
Packaged: 2019-03-13 21:34:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 52,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13579368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/L_M_Biggs/pseuds/L_M_Biggs
Summary: Graves stared down at the file on his desk, dictating the results of the lineage test that had been conducted on Credence after the removal of the obscurus by Newt Scamander. It was a simple enough spell, requiring a small amount of blood and a piece of parchment, the spell would then weave a small family tree, usually only going back two or three generations, sometimes more if required, and was often used in the case of magical orphans, allowing them to be handed off to relatives rather than to the orphanages or workhouses. He had expected to find some living relative to give Credence closure, to reintroduce him to his roots. Some great aunt perhaps, or grandparent, someone, anyone who might be able to be there for the boy who had nothing in the world.He had not expected his secretary to step in, smile on her face, and say simply, “Congratulations, sir, belated as they are.”Christ, she was barely older than Credence, and here she was congratulating him on being a father to the boy.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Please give credit where credit is due:  
> weepingstar on tumblr (honeybun) on AO3 was the one who assisted most with the planning and plot of this fic and I dedicate this to her.  
> mto-art on tumblr was the inspiration for the wandwood arm  
> Kayla-Bird on tumblr was the one who first had the idea for Obedience Barebone.  
> kamikazesoundsociety assisted with the music compliation, which would have turned out to be a soundtrack if I wasn't so lazy.
> 
> PLEASE NOTE THAT THIS FIC IS LARGELY UNEDITED. THIS INCLUDES SOME EVENTS THAT MIGHT SEEM LIKE THEY'RE IN THE WRONG PLACE, SOME EXPOSITION THAT DOESN'T TAKE PLACE ANYWHERE, AND GENERALLY MISSING EVENTS.
> 
> IT IS ALSO INCOMPLETE. THE FINAL CHAPTER OF THIS FIC WILL CONSIST OF THE NOTES I MADE FOR THE CONTINUED SCENES.
> 
> I WILL NOT BE COMPLETING THIS FIC, SO DO NOT ASK.

PROLOGUE:  
(Danse Macabre, op. 40 - Camille Saint-Saens)

When Percival Graves had fought in The Great War he had fought alongside wizards and No-Maj’s alike. He often thought back to the mechanical beasts that the No-Maj men had built, had birthed from fire and iron and steel, and idly wonder what sort of person it made him to only think of objects of destruction when he thought of No-Maj inventions. He had idly heard of a man inventing something called a tell-foney that could be used to speak across great distances, much like Floo but with a series of wires and electricity. The No-Maj record players and gramophones were a hit amongst his peers, but he had only briefly paid the funny little contraptions any mind. 

Crammed inside a tank along with two other wizards and four No-Maj men, he had witnessed a man strike a match to light his cigarette, struggling with the flimsy stick, and had reached over to light the end of the cigarette with his own fingers, a brief, telling show of witchcraft that had stunned the young man silent for the rest of the night. A week later Graves had waved his hand and scraped the remains of the young No-Maj soldier’s face out of the inside of the tank.

Credence Barebone was probably one of the few miracles of No-Maj creation that Percival Graves had ever deigned to pay attention to that was not an object meant to wrought destruction. When he dreamed his dreams were filled with No-Maj record players and cigarettes lighting themselves and tell-foney wires tangling, strangling him, lighting lines of pain across his limbs, across an arm that was no longer there, as he danced a morbid waltz that Grindelwald had composed for him.

A waltz he danced with Credence Barebone, instrument of his torment often times. 

The dreams bled together, all a singular never-ending cycle of pain then relief, some moments more mild than others. Memories (the No-Maj girl who he had quietly given a tin case of eggs to, asking her in clumsy German to cook for him) and fantasies (sweeping Credence up into his arms to dance to the raucous jazz music playing in a sunlit apartment) mingled into one (Percival staring across the table in that ramshackle German apartment, the girl’s face was replaced with Credence as the smell of frying eggs and a few scant strips of bacon filled the air, the bruises on Credence’s arms the same as the ones on the poor German girl’s).

He thought of Franklin Kee, who had handed Percival his dogtags and his wand and stood, walking towards the enemy line, entirely unarmed, sedately strolling forward. He had walked into a fog of mustard gas and proceeded to let the deadly cloud of yellow smoke eat away at his flesh, fill his lungs and suffocate him to death. He thought of his own arm, thrown across the room, still clutching his wand, and Grindelwald’s purred out Incendio that had lit the flesh on fire. He thought of the smell of burning, cooking meat, the stomach-churning stench of it seeping into the wallpaper and bed curtains, blood and ash spattering the edge of the bed where the sheets and bedclothes were now slashed open. All of these moments melting together, the drippings of wax Easter candles held during Mass as he stood beside his mother, running scorching and painful over his knuckles, his eyes tracking the mingling lines as they ran and merged in one. Everything was a singular moment, every moment was a patchwork quilt of memories and feelings and experiences, muddled together until he couldn’t tell them apart.

He thought of himself in Franklin Kee’s position, of himself in Credence Barebone’s shoes, staring at the slats of his own bed and thinking of just... Giving up. Throwing himself into Grindelwald’s line of fire and hoping the man decided to simply put him out of his misery. Thought of continuing the fight despite all odds, despite every ounce of abuse poured into him. He thought of seeing Credence in the streets of New York, handing out flyers in the January cold, his fingers turned blue and the abuse of his mother’s rage evident in long bloody stripes across his palms. He thought of the girl, “Graves’ young schatzi” as the other soldiers had called her, standing in her own apartment, screaming and sobbing as soldiers, No-Maj and Wizard alike, pawed and laughed and grabbed at her until Graves stepped in, barking at them to leave her be and brandishing his wand. He thought of his schatzi and the bombs carpeting her town, of her corpse lost amidst the rubble, crushed and twisted and still-warm even as he dug her out from the ruins. He thought of Credence, of all the violent fantasies that Grindelwald had whispered into his ear like poison, the man cajoling Graves with ideas of how exactly he would break and ruin and destroy the boy.

He thought of every nightmare he had ever been afraid of and found that none compared to this horrifying reality.

When a deadly black fog rolled into his apartment, filling the entire building, peeling at the wallpaper, making Graves cough with the suffocating fullness of it, he wondered if his fervent, silent prayers to a God he hadn’t prayed to since the war had been answered. Grindelwald had finally tired of him, had decided to kill him, to rid himself of the nuisance of Graves’ continued existence. 

He was in his apartment (he was in a small nameless little town in Germany), coughing around the air thick with magic (a shield thrown up at last minute to stop the roiling waves of mustard gas), the bedframe rattling and thrown aside (the dishes rattled in the girl’s grip as she set the table for two), staring up at Credence’s wide, terrified eyes (the boy’s face blended and merged and wavered with that of the girl who had looked at him as if he was a saviour even though he was one of the men pillaging her town, as if he had gifted her with divine intervention rather than foreign invasion).

“Mr. Graves-”

When he woke up it was too light. 

The sterile, white walls of Saint Jude the Apostle Hospital for Magical Maladies stared back at him and he looked over as the mediwitch entered the room, her brows furrowed as she took his vital signs and sent off a patronus to inform someone of his return to consciousness.

He tried to lift his arm to push her away when she shone a light in his eye from the tip of her wand , only to freeze when he saw that his left arm was missing, from the middle of his elbow down. A memory of cooking meat filled his lungs and he gagged on thin air, retching up nothing as he rolled onto his side, distantly registering the sound of the nurse calling for help.

The second time he woke was to the sound of someone climbing into the bed alongside him. His eyes snapped open and for a moment his reality swam, catching sight of a girl with blonde curls who lived only in his memories, her eyes a sharp bright blue, before the image was brushed aside by a blink of his eyes, revealing Credence’s own inky dark gaze fixed upon Graves’ own face. 

“What are you doing up, Credence?” He mumbled, reaching out for Credence with his left hand only to feel the absence of the limb more keenly. 

The boy had numerous gashes from curses across his chest, back and arms, and his hands were bandaged up with salve. Grasping Credence’s wrist firmly, Graves pulled the boy closer, making as if he wanted to pull the bandages off. 

“Who hurt you?”

Credence shrank before his eyes, the boy bowing his head and whimpering softly. “I’m sorry. He was just... It wasn’t you. It couldn’t have been you. And he - when they took him away you weren’t there and - and....”

Clarity came to him and Graves stared at the boy, “You found me.”

“I found you.” The boy whispered. “I couldn’t live without you.” His eyes were so earnest and dark and wide and brimming with tears, his hands trembling, one resting lightly upon the hand grasping his wrist. 

“Oh... Credence...” Percival lifted the boy’s hand to his lips, kissing the heavily bandaged surface, letting the hand cradle his cheek. “You miracle, you wonderful beautiful boy... You saved me.”

\--  
(Four Seasons op. 8, Winter: Allegro - Vivaldi)

The events were as follows:

Tina Goldstein, after attacking the No-Maj Mary-Lou Barebone to protect one Credence Barebone, had been demoted. She had asked Percival Graves to check in on the boy and he had done so. It was during this time that Percival Graves and Credence Barebone became involved romantically. When the (then speculated) Obscurus attacks of early 1926 began to become more frequent, coinciding with Mary-Lou Barebone’s increased abuse of Credence Barebone, Gellert Grindelwald entered the country and assumed the identity of Percival Graves, petrifying the man with a mixture of potions, spells, and an artifact that is as of yet unidentified, and stowing him beneath the bed of the Master bedroom of Percival Graves’ apartment. In December of 1926, eleven months after Gellert Grindelwald first assumed his new identity, Percival Graves was found by Credence Barebone, the obscurial assumed dead via execution ordered by President Seraphina Picquery. When the Magical Investigations team arrived at Percival Graves’ apartment they found Credence Barebone, heavily injured and suffering from multiple burns from the wards placed across the apartment, holding an unconscious Percival Graves in the destroyed bedroom.

Percival Graves and Credence Barebone were both admitted to St. Jude the Apostle Hospital for Magical Maladies and submitted to treatment. Percival Graves was placed into a magically induced coma in order to prevent his body from going into shock the moment he awoke, the coma lasting two weeks before the man was tentatively woken for assessment. Credence Barebone was treated for his magical wounds and an attempt was made to relocate him to Tina Goldstein’s home, only for him to refuse, multiple times, to leave Percival Graves.

And the rest, as they say, is history.

What the official reports, however, would never contain was the deep seated relief that flooded through Percival Graves when he had woken to the sight of Credence Barebone, sitting across from him, staring at him with haunted eyes. The boy was even thinner than when they had first met and spoken together. Though Grindelwald had taken many of Graves’ own habits, it seemed, but feeding the boy at least twice a week had not been one of them. It was perhaps that one unkindness that had made Graves most upset. Grindelwald had taken all of the worst bits of him, all of his single-mindedness, all of his rabid pursuit of what he thought was right, all of his coldness to his coworkers, his forced impartiality to his underlings and the world around him, his self-induced isolation... But he had left out the one thing that could be vaguely considered kind. 

Credence was even more slashed and scarred than before, looking as if he had been carved into chunks then cobbled clumsily back together, like a child’s tin toy welded back together after being shredded apart. His hair was still in the crooked bowlcut and his skin was still waxy and sallow, and despite it all he was still the most beautiful creature Percival Graves had ever laid his eye on when he smiled at him, shaky and uncertain.

“It wasn’t you.” The boy whispered, and his shoulders had slumped gently as he leaned back against the pillows propping him up. Whatever he had seen, or had not seen, Graves couldn’t help the flood of absolute relief that even if no one else - not Picquery or Tina or any of his own Aurors - had been able to tell the difference that someone had.

Even if that someone was quiet, unassuming Credence Barebone.


	2. Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE NOTE THAT THIS FIC IS LARGELY UNEDITED. THIS INCLUDES SOME EVENTS THAT MIGHT SEEM LIKE THEY'RE IN THE WRONG PLACE, SOME EXPOSITION THAT DOESN'T TAKE PLACE ANYWHERE, AND GENERALLY MISSING EVENTS.
> 
> IT IS ALSO INCOMPLETE. THE FINAL CHAPTER OF THIS FIC WILL CONSIST OF THE NOTES I MADE FOR THE CONTINUED SCENES.
> 
> I WILL NOT BE COMPLETING THIS FIC, SO DO NOT ASK.

PART 1

\--  
(Hungarian Dance No. 1 in G minor - Brahms)

 

Graves stared down at the file on his desk, dictating the results of the lineage test that had been conducted on Credence after the removal of the obscurus by Newt Scamander. It was a simple enough spell, requiring a small amount of blood and a piece of parchment, the spell would then weave a small family tree, usually only going back two or three generations, sometimes more if required, and was often used in the case of magical orphans, allowing them to be handed off to relatives rather than to the orphanages or workhouses. He had expected to find some living relative to give Credence closure, to reintroduce him to his roots. Some great aunt perhaps, or grandparent, someone, anyone who might be able to be there for the boy who had nothing in the world.

He had not expected his secretary to step in, smile on her face, and say simply, “Congratulations, sir, belated as they are.”

Christ, she was barely older than Credence, and here she was congratulating him on being a father to the boy.

He wracked his brain for memories of the woman, and he came up with a vague memory of a girl, maybe in her mid-twenties with feline features, sharp and soft-lipped and waif-like. Tall. Fuck, he hadn’t even remembered her name and the red shade of the blood that had now dried upon the page, a bright warning, denoted her as a No Maj. He hadn’t cared about what she had been, he remembered at least, he had only known she was beautiful and he wanted her and what Percival Graves wanted he got.

So here he was now, staring at Credence, the boy staring at the paper in confusion as they sat at the kitchen table after dinner. He had avoided the conversation for nearly an hour, testing out his new arm and the capabilities. The “skin” of it was made with smooth, sanded and polished ebony wandwood and the core that ran through the length of it and down to the fingers was the same wampus cat hair of the wand that Grindelwald had stolen and then proceeded to snap in an act of sheer spite. He had been testing it mostly with household chores and Credence had been more than enthusiastic to watch, awed and gasping every time the man’s fingers flexed, revealing the small bands of mother-of-pearl at each joint of his hand and arm.

Now, however, Graves was attempting not to twitch the hand over to the boy, to touch him, coddle him, pull him back from whatever dark place his mind had fled to after being given the news of his lineage. This had never been intended to be permanent, only a temporary fix until Credence found someplace to go, at least that was what Graves had told himself. Had done so ad nauseaum when he had bought the new brownstone and all but abandoned his old home, furniture and all, keeping only a few valuable family heirlooms and some books with value. Now... Now the boy was his, in a house he had bought and furnished to carefully keep him, and a part of him delighted in the idea that Credence could never fully run away from him, hide from him, could never truly be without him without being alone.

Because as much as Percival Graves hated people, as much as he had lived and died by his work, no one had known that he had been replaced. No one had seen that a madman had stolen his face for little under a year. No one except Credence Barebone - Credence Graves. He wasn’t sure what he would do if he was forced to live without that, without that recognition and acknowledgement and the obvious love that shone in the boy’s eyes every time their gazes met.

“I’m a Graves.” Credence whispered softly, tracing his fingers over the name. It felt foreign on his tongue as he stared at it. “Keirnan Graves...”

“If you’d like to be.” The man murmured, staring down at Credence gently. 

“Could... Could I be Credence Graves?” The boy asked softly, looking up at his father with furrowed brows. “I don’t... I don’t think I could be Keirnan.”

“Whatever you want, Credence.”

“I... I don’t know...” Credence’s voice cracked as he stared at the paper, hands shaking on the table. “Please I don’t - I don’t-”

Percival reached out quickly, cupping Credence’s jaw in the smooth wooden curve of his broad, palm, panic welling in his own chest as the boy’s voice hitched with contained sobs. He remembered the first time he had asked Credence what he wanted for a meal, the first gift of many to follow, and the boy had shook silently until Graves had made the decision for him. “Hey, hey, Credence... Credence, you’re not going to change your name, okay? Your name is Credence.”

The boy’s eyes softened with relief, tears still clinging to his lashes as he hiccuped and stared up at Graves. “I don’t know what to do.” The boy whispered, his hands shaking gently as he stared up at the older man. 

“You don’t have to.” Percival’s voice was firm, grounding, as he gently stroked his fingers into the ugly bowl cut, gently holding Credence so that the boy’s eyes were trained on his own. “I know what to do, Credence. I’ll take care of you, like a father is supposed to.”

Credence trembled, his lashes fluttering and wet as he searched Graves’ face. “Don’t leave me... Please... I’m so scared, I can’t... I can’t think.” Percival stared at the boy and he could practically see the thoughts that fluttered about Credence’s mind, like bats shrieking in an empty church. Thinking about all those times in the alleyway when Graves had held him close, had pulled him into a warm hug and stroked his hair. Thinking of Mary Lou, cold and dead in the church along with Chastity, found by the police, and Modesty recently adopted by a lovely couple who ran a grocery. 

“No, no, sweet boy, my sweet boy, I’ll never leave you. I’ll take care of you.” The man stood, stepping closer until he could pull Credence to hims chest, the boy easily turning in his arms as he remained seated. Standing he would be slightly taller than Graves;, seated he could easily press his face to his father’s broad chest. Graves rubbed his prosthetic hand over the boy’s shoulders, the other hand gently stroking and ruffling his short cropped hair, tugging gently every so often to ground the boy. 

“You’ll never want for anything, Credence.” Graves looked down as Credence pressed his cheek to the buttons of Graves’ waistcoat, lips parted slightly and cheeks flushed from holding back repressing his tears. His eyes fixed on Percival and the man felt his heart clench as he stared at that naked open admiration, that shy, eager want that had filled Percival’s mind, had kept him from losing his mind while in Grindelwald’s clutches. The broad palm cupping Credence’s skull head slid across over Credence’s jaw and throat, cradling his cheek and tracing his thumb over the full, chapped lower lip that was still trembling with repressed tears. Thin fingers clutched at the man’s waistcoat, tangling in the fine fabric, Credence’s face turning to press to Percival’s chest as he shivered and melted into the warm touches. 

“Credence, look at me.” The man ordered, tugging the boy’s hair slightly, Credence’s eyes peering up at him, his cheek and mouth still pressed right over Percival’s sternum, wrinkling the tie and mussing the neatly pressed fabric of his shirt. “I am not a kind man, Credence. I am selfish and jealous. I’m a fucking bastard on the best of days.” Credence trembled, looking away only for a moment before Percival tugged his hair and forced him to look up. “But never doubt that I love you. No matter the way I might seem, I would never hurt you, my sweet boy.”

Trembling, parted lips let out a soft little breath and Credence nodded, pressing his face to Percival’s chest. “I know you wouldn’t.” And Graves remembered hearing about the slap, about how Grindelwald had struck Credence across the face and how the boy had lost his control after that. Thought of how the boy had been torn apart by Auror magic and then dragged himself back together piece by piece with the help of Newt Scamander. No. The boy had suffered enough, Graves could never add onto that.

“I could never hurt you, Credence. Believe me.”

They sat like that in silence, Credence clinging to Percival’s waist, holding him close and tucking his face against the man’s pectoral before he whispered, voice trembling and fragile as bird bones. “I love you, Mr. Graves.”

And oh, the burning thrill that those words sent through Percival’s gut was surely something damning, but how could he care when the boy tilted his head to peer up at him, practically begging for a kiss with his soft brown eyes.

In that moment, when his lips brushed over Credence’s forehead, lingering for far too long, hearing the soft hitch of Credence’s breath at the touch, Percival Graves knew two things: 1. If there was a hell, he had an absolute certainty that he would be going there. 2. He would deny his sweet boy, his sweet Credence, absolutely nothing.

\--  
(Waltz in E Minor, B. 56 - Chopin) 

Tina, for whatever reason, had taken it upon herself to look out for Credence’s wellbeing. Percival had no qualms with the girl in any case, she was whip-smart and loyal and almost too good-hearted for the job. However, what he did not appreciate was the fact that in the last hour she had firecalled his desk no less than four times, like clockwork, once every fifteen minutes. 

“For fuck’s sake.” He growled as the small jar of floo powder on his desk flamed green once more. “Goddamnit, Goldstein, stay put at your desk, I’m coming over.” And with that he snuffed out the flame and stood, walking around his desk and making his way to Tina’s desk. 

Everyone in the office paused when he stepped out before a stern glare sent them all hunching back over their work. Ever since his release, rehabilitation, and reinstatement as the Director of Magical Security no one went into his office save the President and Graves himself. The wards had been difficult before, but now they were positively vicious and as Percival stormed down to Tina’s desk at the end of the rows, she was already standing, staring at him with challenging, quietly angry eyes.

She turned on her heel and walked down the hall, finding a corridor that they could have a relatively private conversation.

“He needs a home, stability.” She whispered, glaring at him. Percival didn’t even bother acting surprised, the Goldstein sisters had no secrets between them and Queenie had taken it upon herself to keep Credence company. Between everything miserable and difficult and frustrating about this whole experience Percival could at least thank Morgana for Queenie Goldstein and the fact that while Credence still flinched from most everyone save Percival, he seemed to trust Queenie to mean him no harm.

“I can give him that.”

“You sleep in your office three nights a week.”

“I never had so much as a houseplant to return to. This will encourage me to go home.”

“You practically marinate yourself in firewhiskey on the weekends.”

“Tell Queenie to stop poking into my weekend memories.”

“You have no idea how to be a father!” Tina hissed practically shouted, throwing her hands up and glaring staring at him. “Especially not to a boy who has never known anything but pain from a woman who claimed to be his mother. Especially not after Grindelwald-” Her eyes flickered to his arm and Percival could finish the sentence himself. _Especially not after he imprisoned you for a year, stripped you of your arm, scrambled your memories, used Credence in god knows how many ways._

Percival’s jaw clenched and he glared at her. “I might not have any idea how to be a father but I’ll learn.” 

Her eyes searched his face, her own expression wary and somewhat frustrated with the conversation. “You barely know him. He barely knows you! You’d only known him for two months before you were locked up. Not to mention you wouldn’t have even given him a second glance if I hadn’t gone and hexed Mary Lou Barebone!”

“I’m well aware, Goldstein.” Percival growled, glaring down at her. She had an uncanny way of hitting the nail right on the head, to the point where he wondered sometimes if Queenie was the only one with the gift of reading minds. “I need to fix this. I need to do right by Credence. And just... Throwing him to the cold to find his way... I can’t do that to him. Not after everything she did to Credence.” It was a paltry reason. Percival Graves was not charitable by nature. He was not kind nor loving nor gentle. But Credence made him wish he was, wish he was good for the boy rather than a selfish bastard, trying to cling tightly to the one person who had seen his face and known that something was wrong, the one person who mattered enough to him that he had been able to open the one small gate in his meticulously built wall to let the boy in.

Tina seemed to still be on the offense, grasping at the last bit of rationality in her arsenal. “He needs to be independent.”

“For fuck’s sake, Tina.” Percival leaned closer, staring her in the eye. “I asked him what he wanted for breakfast two days ago and he almost burst into tears.” He straightened, looking down at the woman before him. “He needs someone to make decisions for him, I’m his father. That is my right.”

\--  
(Sous l’eau - Alexandra Streliski)  
(Chocolat - Rachel Portman) 

 

Credence was not used to sleeping in., Ssuch a blatant indulgence of sSloth would never had stood with Mary Lou. Eight o'clocko’ clock was far too late in the morning to be getting up, but Mr. Graves had given him a schedule in an effort to establish a get routine and ease Credence into his new life. Sometimes he woke ould wake at five in the morning, fidgeting and staring at his open bedroom door, listening to the sounds of Mr. Graves occasionally shifting in his own bed, fancying he could count the even, steady breaths of the man in the silence before the dawn. He’d listen until seven o’clock when Mr. Graves getting up, going about his own ablutions and routine. The sound of him in the morning - bathing shaving dressing - and then he would hear Mr. Graves walk over to his own open door, peering inside. Credence would go stock still, keep his eyes closed, holding his breath as if in anticipation for the traitorous blow, and silently wait. Most mornings Graves would do nothing, simply stand over his bed silently, a reassuring presence, like the shadow of a guardian angel, or the looming threat of violence. It was hard to shake the instinctive fear of the man, his mind conjuring unwanted memories of Grindelwald wearing Mr. Graves’ face and slapping him. The tension would bleed out of him at the first touch of the wooden prosthetic upon his back, tucking his blanket closer, gentle and kind where Grindelwald had always been hard and possessive. 

Some mornings he’d kiss Credence’s forehead, some he’d only ruffle his hair gently, other morning’s he’d lean in and whispers, soft as butterfly wings against on his cheek, “I love you, baby boy.”

Those were always his favourite mornings.

Credence would get up then, would bathe and shave and dress and eat the breakfast that Mr. Graves would leave out, enchanted to stay warm on the plate. He’d then putter around the brownstone, reading books on the shelves and tidying up the space until noon. Mr. Graves had shown Credence how to use the Floo network and given him a map showing Credence how to get to the Woolworth building by foot if he needed. “Though I’d prefer if you Flooed, it’s much safer that way.”

Graves had also been on the lookout for accidental magic. Nothing too big, he had explained, but when Newt Scamander had told him a theory. It was a quite simple theory: that in removing the obscurus they had also removed magic from Credence, the man had more carefully monitored Credence for incidents of accidental magic. So far there were none and Credence wasn’t sure if he should be relieved or upset at the loss. 

Credence carefully tugged a suit from the closet, glancing only briefly at the other items inside. Mr. Graves had purchased him a wardrobe that bordered on excessive, filled with nice suits and slacks and shirts. When he had caught Credence staring a bit too long at a female mannequin in the window, almost overnight a new assortment of clothes had been added and thrown almost at random into the closet. Credence never wore the elaborate outfits, though, sticking to his favourite, plainest suit. 

It was the closest equivalent to his old suit, simple and black with a thin tie, the biggest difference being that the jacket was lined with a deep purple silk and the white shirt was also made of the same smooth, shimmery fabric. It felt cool and delicate against his skin and indecent in a way the memory of his old rough linen shirts couldn’t dream to imitate. never felt against his skin. He glanced into the closet, at the pretty black lace that hung in a particular corner, shimmering purple with the threads interwoven amongst the black. 

He never took it off the hanger, but sometimes he’d pull it out, admire it, hold it up to his body as he stood in front of the full length mirror, and imagine what it would feel like on his bare skin. Imagine what it would feel like to have Mr. Graves’ fingers peeling it off. He wondered if the man had bought it before... Before Grindelwald, before they had found out they were family... Back during the days when Credence had allowed himself to fantasize about Mr. Graves whisking him away to live with him in sin. HLike his not- mother - no, not his mother, Mary Lou - Mary Lou had always warned him about the sorts of perverted older men who dragged young boys into dark alleyways. What words cwould he whisper to coax the man into doing such things again? 

Certainly he couldn’t whisper softly, “Mr. Graves, please, touch me again.”

A shiver crawled up Credence’s spine at the thought, fiddling with the buttons of his waistcoat as he looked in the mirror. It was difficult calling Mr. Graves anything but that. Percival didn’t seem right, not when the man was more than a casual acquaintance or a friend. Father, no matter how many times he murmured it to the dusty old photograph of Graves accepting his position as Director of M-Sec, did not feel right on his tongue. 

Mr. Graves had teasingly told him to call him Daddy once, when Credence had explained why he didn’t call him Father. The word made him nervous. Felt too infantile, like something only a very small child would say and would seem mocking coming from his own voice. He wanted to say it. So badly that some days it felt like if he spoke a single word it would be the one lodged in the back of his throat, nesting within the cradle of the back of his jaw. Mr. Graves never pushed him to speak and that was his sole saving grace as to why he had never called the man by his preferred moniker. 

Credence stepped into the living room, looking to the numerous bookshelves that were overflowing with various books, plants in small glass terrariums, knick knacks and photographs. Graves had bought them all for him. It was a sin, Credence thought, to buy so much on the whims of a boy, but in the time when they had furnished their new home Graves had been insistent on filling it with things Credence liked. And so the terrariums were filled with herbs and plants, small living things, that Credence had been in quiet awe of at Mildred’s Herbarium. The photographs were all of Credence and Graves, more often Credence than Mr. Graves, pictures that Credence had been shy of, but brought the man delight all the same. The photograph of Mr. Graves, proud and stern and posing for his portrait, was one that Credence often carried with him from room to room, nervously, guiltily, placing it in it’s spot before the man came home.

He selected a book on magical history from what Percival had dubbed “Credence’s” bookcase. It was filled with numerous old school books, some updated versions too, and any of the wizarding or no maj books that Graves had found that he thought would interest Credence. He was usually right in his assessments. Collecting the book and holding it close to his chest, Credence turned to the fireplace, grabbing a handful of green powder and throwing it into the empty hearth. 

“The Woolworth Building, please.” He enunciated clearly as the familiar green flames licked along the edges of the fireplace. 

Stepping through was always a leap of faith to Credence. He doubted he’d ever get used to walking through flame and coming out unscathed, but he also doubted he’d ever lose the absolute wonder he had for seeing the wizarding world, and especially MACUSA, in all of it’s glory.

Red groused at him as he did with everyone and Credence smiled down at the house elf as he did so. “Thank you, Red.” The boy stated simply, stepping out onto the proper floor.

When Tina Goldstein had first brought him to MACUSA he had been terrified of all the people there, of the noise, the constant activity. When he had been brought back by Mr. Graves after Tina had fought valiantly for his protection, he had felt like a sideshow. The obscurus and Mr. Scamander’s involvement had made him feel even more freakish than before. But now... Now he was Credence Graves. Not Credence Barebone, not anymore. He was the beloved son of Director of Magical Security Percival Graves. The honourable right hand of Madame President Picquery. He was precious to the man that everyone in MACUSA knew only to be nothing if not a professional bastard. Unkind, ungentled, stoic Percival Graves.

Head held high, Credence walked straight through M-Sec, feeling his heart pounding at his own boldness. He felt the eyes on him, some admiring, some casually interested, others with some ill intent that Credence couldn’t place. When he came to the door at the very end of the enormous office space, directly across from the elevator, he knocked gently, waiting for the door to swing open.

Mr. Graves was inside, seated at his desk, when the door swung inwards, Credence stepping inside and wringing his hands as he stared down at the floor, shyly averting his eyes from the man.

“Lunch time already?” The man smiled, standing and collecting a silver cigarette case into the dark wood of his hand. Credence’s eyes flickered to the polished ebony wood but he didn’t dare voice his thoughts that circled far more often than necessary, ask Mr. Graves if he touch it, could feel the power and magic thrumming just beneath the surface of the finely crafted limb. “Does the Chipped Saucer sound good?” The man asked, pulling on his coat, forgoing a pair of gloves but tugging on his scarf anyway, knotting it about his throat carefully.

In the month since they had been living together it had become a clearly defined routine. Credence, who could not be trusted to actually make himself lunch if left alone for the day, was under strict orders to come to MACUSA promptly at noon so that Mr. Graves could take him out for lunch and perhaps something sweet afterwards if Credence ate his entire lunch. It always went like this, with Mr. Graves asking if the restaurant he had chosen sounded good to the boy. Usually they were places that served a variety, so that Credence could try anything he liked when they sat down. Mostly No Maj diners, but occasionally Mr. Graves would take him to someplace like the Chipped Saucer to get him accustomed to casual magic.

Credence fiddled with his sleeves, looking through his lashes at the man pulling on his coat and scarf, the coat left open so that Mr. Graves could slip his hands into his slacks pockets. He took in the breadth of Mr. Graves’ shoulders and the way his vest and shirt were pulled tight across his torso, the buttons straining when he stretched and moved about. The man was... So very handsome, painfully so, and Credence often had to remind himself in the dead of night that he was his father. The reminders were often not enough to stay his hand as he pressed and rubbed his hips against the bed, whimpering and panting and groaning out a quiet orgasm against the sheets, shamefully hoping that Rosemary didn’t say anything when she cleaned them in the morning. 

“Do I get a kiss, Credence?” Mr. Graves asked, smiling down at the boy, his inky dark eyes fixed on Credence’s own. They shared the same eye colour, though Credence obviously had the shape of his mother’s eyes. It made it easier to look at the man in the eyes, cataloguing the differences between their faces rather than the similarities. Leaning forward, bending slightly so as to seem smaller, Credence gave a soft, chaste kiss to Mr. Graves’ cheek before an arm was tugged about his waist. “Good boy, come along then.”

They apparated and Credence doubted he’d ever get used to the feeling of being pressed so close, almost as if the very fibre of his being was threatening to mingle with Mr. Graves’ as the man’s arms curled around him tighter and tighter, squeezing every inch of breath and life from him before -

Credence inhaled deeply, the sound of a man drowning in the ocean breaching the water, the sound of forks and knives and the clinking of plates, the hollow sounds of glasses being lifted and placed down by the various diners. 

A plate whizzed past Credence’s head and the boy gasped, ducking close to Graves and letting the man lead him through the cramped tables of the Chipped Saucer. The man seated them in a small booth and menus flew out to them, Credence watching as Mr. Graves snatched them from the air. He didn’t bother handing Credence one, instead glancing briefly up at the boy before opening his own menu.

“Did you like that chicken parmigiana?” It had been too rich for him the first time, he had barely made it through half of the meal, but Credence had liked it and he would try to eat all of it this time.

Credence nodded, smiling as a young waitress with a rather kind face came by to take their orders, the boy not even looking up at the stranger trying to speak to him, seeming to shrink by the second as the girl tried to make small talk with him.

“My son would like some lemonade, and I would like a coffee. Black. Please.” Mr. Graves gave a sharp, impatient smile to the girl, who nodded and quickly ducked off, sending their order as a small paper airplane to the kitchens before going to get their drinks prepared.

She didn’t return, instead waving her wand to send the drinks to their table. Credence couldn’t help but smile and stare at the older man, Mr. Graves lifting his steaming cup of coffee to his lips.

“So what will you do today?” Mr. Graves asked as he watched the boy across from him.

“Can... I want...” The boy bit his lip, looking down at the table and fidgeting with his own fingers. “I... I’d like to go to the bookstore.”

“Which one? The Strand? Or Goethics?”

“I... I want to go to The Strand.” Credence flushed, fidgeting even more as he looked up at Graves briefly, as if asking if that was the correct answer.

“Do you?” The man stared at Credence and the boy directed his gaze down to the table, taking in the polished, clean wood of Graves’ hand placed atop the white tablecloth. “Credence.”

“I do... I w-want to go to The Strand.”

Graves nodded, reaching for his coin purse and fumbling out several No Maj dollar bills before handing them to Credence. “I want you to spend all of that on books before I come to pick you up at...” He checked his pocketwatch. “Four. Plenty of time for you to make your decisions.”

Credence flushed, his fingers shaking as he fingered the three five dollar bills. He could buy out half a bookshop with the wealth that his father casually handed him and when their meals came over - steaming hot chicken parmigiana for him, and a pastrami sandwich for Mr. Graves - something turned in his stomach and he couldn’t bring himself to start eating.

“Credence. What’s wrong?”

“I can’t...” The boy whispered, tears coming to his eyes as he stared hungrily down at the meal. “I... You’re already giving me money for books... It’s... I can either eat or have the books.”

“You can have both, Credence.” The man stated simply, staring down at the boy, not touching his own food as his hand - the flesh one - reached over. “Credence, look at me.” Firm fingers pinched Credence’s chin gently. “You can have both. You will have both.”

“But it’s too much-”

“Credence.” Mr. Graves whispered, tugging Credence until the boy leaned forward, his eyelids fluttering as a thumb pressed to his lips, gently silencing him. “Do you think that your Daddy can’t take care of you?”

Credence shook his head, lips still held softly together by the firm thumb pressed against them. His stomach clenched at the self-given moniker Mr. Graves used. His lashes fluttered and he leaned into the thumb rubbing over his lower lip, not seeing the way the man licked his own lips briefly at the sight.

“Do you think that your Daddy can’t afford to take care of your every need, Credence?”

“I...” Credence sighed and shivered, looking across the table as the hand was slid down the boy’s jaw and neck, kneading at the gently fluttering pulse. “N-no, I don’t think that, Mr. Graves.”

Graves gently slid his hand over Credence’ jaw. “Eat. Eat everything and then I will take you to The Strand.” Pulling his hand back completely, the man gave a small, private smile to the boy, one that set his heart pounding. “Now. Will you let Daddy take care of you?” The man murmured, his eyes fixed firmly, inky and heavy, on Credence’s face.

“Y-yes.” The boy whispered, breathless and shivering at the touch of the man - of his father and if that didn’t tie his stomach in knots - before he looked down at his plate. He still hesitated to bring his hands together in front of Mr. Graves. The other - Grindelwald, he gently reminded himself - had refused to let him pray in restaurants or even in the man’s own home. But Mr. Graves, the real Mr. Graves, had quietly looked at Credence and asked him if he wanted to say grace. 

“Oh Llord, bless this food which we are about to consume to sustain our bodies, just as your heavenly love and guidance sustains our souls.” Credence murmured, head bowed and hands pressed tightly together.

“Amen.” Mr. Graves murmured, crossing himself briefly before he lifted his own sandwich to his mouth to take a bite, Credence staring at his own plate for a long moment, bracing himself for the task ahead of him.

Eating was a chore some days rather than a pleasure, but the way Mr. Graves looked at him, the way he focused carefully on Credence’s lips and the muscles of his throat tensing as he swallowed, he could almost enjoy it. If only to have the man’s intense gaze fixed upon him.

“Good boy.”

And oh... If only he could explain why the man’s voice sent a thrill through his chest, slithering and pooling in his stomach, writhing as he breathed and rearing its head at every word that tumbled from Mr. Graves’ lips, almost like the obscurus before Mr. Scamander removed it. Perhaps if he could explain or understand it it wouldn’t frighten him quite so much, but staring at Mr. Graves and the way the man gentled for him, coddled and protected him like something small and precious.

Credence had not been small for quite some time, and never before had he been precious. He felt that whatever God there was... Perhaps he would forgive Credence his greed for the tender devotion of his father. After all, Christ had wept on the cross for the love of his Father, and Credence would gladly do the same for his own.

\--  
(Four Seasons, Op. 8, Summer: Adagio - Vivaldi)  
(Etudes, Op. 25: No. 2 in F Minor - Chopin) [maybe]

The fever had taken hold early in the evening the previous day, and by the small hours of the morning the boy’s chest shook with the wracking coughs that tore through his lungs and throat, making his voice raw and hoarse as he lay in his own bed, curled up tightly and shivering even under three blankets. Percival had woken at the first feeble coughs, the subtle ward he had placed on the boy’s room to warn him of nightmares or other distressing things happening in the night beginning to softly but insistently chime. 

As the coughing got worse so did the chiming of the wards. They chimed sharply with each cough and jangled like a ring of keys each time the boy woke himself with the force of his coughing. Percival was unable to ignore neither them or his own whirling, paranoid thoughts as he lay in bed, whatever thoughts he had of letting Credence rest in the comfort of his own bed flying out the window when he heard a feeble, exhausted sob from the upstairs rooms. Pulling on his robe, Percival ascended the stairs to Credence’s floor, opening the door to the boy’s bedroom and seeing him shivering, curled tightly within his blankets and coughing. With the door ajar, Percival stepped in, taking in the boy’s red, watery eyes as they opened. Credence sniffled softly, hiding his face slowly in the blankets. 

“Oh, sweet boy.” The man sighed, collecting Credence and a single blanket, thick and soft, in his arms. 

“I’m sorry.” Credence whispered, exhausted as his eyes struggled to stay open.

“Shh... I’ve got you, honey lamb.” Percival murmured, kissing Credence’s forehead gently as he arranged the boy in his own large bed, pulling the curtains over the windows closed and walking into the bathroom to procure a batch of soothing balm and a bottle of Sleep-Away to help the boy heal. The thick, yellow liquid looked vile, and tasted just as bad, but some gentle coaxing got Credence to swallow the medicine.

“There there... Shh...” Percival tugged the boy’s clothing off, casting the sweat-soaked fabric aside before he wrapped the slender frame in thick blankets once more. Thin, shaking limbs wrapped around Percival as the boy was held close to his chest, letting Credence curl tight against him. “Now we can both sleep, baby boy.”

He had still sniffled and shivered all through the night, even with Percival procuring the thick winter blankets from the linen cupboard and holding the boy close to his broad chest. His soft hair plastered to his forehead and pale cheeks flushed with fever. He whined and whimpered and coughed, sniffling and letting frustrated, exhausted tears escape his eyes as he tossed and turned and clung to Percival, needy and weak. 

They only got a few hours of sleep before the alarm sounded, reminding Percival of work. Credence’s heartbroken eyes stared up at him as he climbed out of bed, the boy trying to find the energy to sit up only to end up flopping over with his face pressed to Percival’s pillow, trembling with something well beyond illness now. 

“Credence.” Percival murmured, barely a few feet away from the bed, already drawn back in to rub the boy’s back. He tried to recall his schedule, his appointments, but the only thing he could think of was the boy shaking and crying quietly into the bedding. “I really need to get ready for work.” The man murmured, soothing the boy’s crying down to soft, uneven breaths before he stood.

Shaving had to be done by magic rather than his straight razor, too preoccupied with the boy in his bed to focus properly on the task. He was in the process of tying his tie when more bone-wracking coughs echoed from the bedroom and Percival was beside the bed once more, sitting on the edge and worriedly pressing his hand to Credence’s forehead and cheek before sliding down to his shoulders.

Broad palms, firm and heavy, rubbed circles into Credence’s back, feeling the knobs of his spine and the shuddering breaths of his ribcage. “I’ll be back before lunch. And during and after.” The man murmured, almost as much to reassure himself as to reassure Credence. “Oh, poor sweet boy.” The man sighed, kissing Credence’s forehead and feeling the boy flail one arm out to wrap around Percival’s shoulders, holding onto him tightly.

Rubbing and soothing the cool wood of his hand over the boy’s back until Credence relaxed enough for Percival to lay him back, a poor attempt to quell the burn but it was all he could think to do, the man finally glanced at the clock, realising he was already late for work by now. He managed to get the boy wrapped back into his blanket, eyes drooped closed and mouth open as the boy breathed softly, still shaking and delirious with the illness. 

“Rosemary.”

The house elf popped into existence beside Graves, following him down the stairs as he made his way to the kitchen for breakfast. “Yes, Mr. Graves sir?”

“Please keep an eye on Credence.” The man didn’t have the stomach for much more than coffee, not while he was thinking of the boy upstairs quietly crying and trying desperately to rest even as his body rebelled. “He needs to take some Pepper Up potion... And possibly more Sleep-Away to try and get him to sleep.”

“Yes, Mr. Graves sir.” Rosemary nodded. “Shall I change his bedsheets and air out more linens, sir?”

“I suppose so.” Percival murmured, sipping his coffee slowly, listening to Credence coughing loud enough to echo down the stairwell through the open bedroom door.

Every instinct screamed at him to stay, to coddle and care for the boy. He thought of a similar situation barely a year ago. Credence caught ill from the punishing cold his mother forced him to stand in, feverish and delirious and touch starved all at once. And now Credence was ill again and it felt like an abandonment all over to leave the boy and go to work. 

Climbing the stairs once more, Percival steeled himself, trying to remind himself that his work was important, that he needed to go to MACUSA regardless of how ill or upset his son was.

Opening the door every resolve shattered and Percival was left scrambling to try and collect the pieces. 

Credence was laying in the bed, curled up tightly beneath layers of blankets, holding Percival’s own pillow to his chest as he hiccupped and sobbed and coughed into the fabric. The man approached the bed, firmly soothing his hand over Credence’s head, the back of his neck, his shoulders and back, kissing at the boy’s sweat-soaked temple gently. 

“I-I don’t feel very well a-at all, Daddy.” Credence whimpered, dizzy eyes trying to focus on Percival, one bare arm reaching out to curl around the man’s waist and cling to him. 

The Great and Terrifying Percival Graves. Brought to his knees by this fragile waif.

“Do you want Daddy to stay, Credence? I’ll stay if you ask.”

Those soft, feline eyes, struggling to remain open and red from the frustrated tears and illness, looked up at Percival. “Please don’t go, Daddy.”

\--  
(Etude-fantaisie in E flat major, Op. 4 - Horowitz)  
(Polonaise in A flat major, Op. 53 - Chopin)

It was the talk of the entirety of M-Sec and most of MACUSA when Graves came in with a large, gleaming white telephone. A few of those in the Non Magical Research Division had been called into the man’s office, the group of them conversing about the item and how best to connect it to the actual lines.

“It only needs to connect to one other phone, why do I need to connect to this circuit board bullshit?” Graves had finally snapped, glaring at the others crammed into his office. 

“What phone would that be?”

“The one in my home. So that Credence can call me if he needs.”

It took some wandwork, a simple linking charm, and a few test runs before Credence excitedly answered the other line.

“It works!” He sounded breathless and pleased, so very close to laughing. 

“Yes, honey lamb, it works.” Percival smiled as he sat at his desk, listening to Credence as the boy seemed to hold the phone closer and further from his ear. 

“It’s incredible!” Credence actually did laugh this time. “Say something else!”

“What should I say?” Percival perched his chin on his fist, cradling the sleek white receiver against his face, delighting in the sounds of Credence shuffling around on the other end.

“Anything at all!” 

Percival laughed, holding the phone close before he began to recite, his deep voice even and clear as he spoke, “Ding, dong, bell. Pussy’s in the well. Who put her in? Little Johnny Flynn. Who pulled her out? Little Tommy Stout. What a naughty boy was that, to try to drown poor pussy cat.”

Credence giggled softly and Percival smiled, listening to the unhinged delight. “And it’s... It’s for me, right?” The boy asked shyly when he settled. “The telephone... It’s... You won’t let anyone else call.”

“Never, Credence.” The man murmured into the receiver, smiling as he listened. “This is only for you and me.”

There was a shy shuffling on the other line. “Could... If I wanted to talk to Queenie... Could she use it?”

Percival smiled as he nodded. “Yes, Credence. If you wanted to talk to Queenie I’d call her in here and she could talk to you.”

“Thank you, Mr. Graves.”

“Thank you...?”

Credence shuffled slightly, cupping his fingers around the mouthpiece, making the sound seem more intimate, closer. “Thank you, Daddy.”

“What a sweet boy,” Percival smiled. “Now, Credence, we have an errand to do this afternoon. I expect you here for lunch.”

“Yes, Daddy.” Credence’s voice was so small, but Percival could still hear the smile in it. The way the boy seemed to be tasting the title only made it all the more sweet to hear him whisper into the phone. “I can call you again, Daddy?”

“Of course, just dial M and I will answer.”

“M for MACUSA?”

“Yes, my brilliant boy.” Percival smiled. “Daddy’s got to work now, but I will see you at lunch.”

“Yes, Daddy.”

Percival would admit to watching the clock for the next two hours, smiling when at precisely noon Credence arrived at his office door, the boy dressed in his simple black suit and his soft, short hair combed neatly. His father stood and led them out of the Woolworth building, down the street to a simple No-Maj cafe. Simple sandwiches, the sort of hot things that Percival had bought when they had first met, Credence handing out flyers on the street and greedily accepting the kindness and food offered, however small it was. 

It was still slightly difficult to get Credence to accept food as a right, not a gift, but the boy was getting better. It seemed to help when Percival prayed with the boy, said grace and encouraged him to eat however much he could stomach, versus how much he should eat. It had made for slow going, as Credence seemed incapable of eating a full meal, but Percival didn’t push too hard, as it was a sure fire way to make Credence panic and reject anything given to him.

Percival could only imagine how this errand would go.

Credence began to fidget when he recognized the banking district, no doubt thinking about how he used to hand out flyers in the area, bankers, brokers, financial employees jostling past him, ignoring the boy in the ragged clothing with the crazed ranting printed crudely on the flyers. 

“Daddy...” The boy whispered, slipping his hand into Percival’s, the man tugging him gently closer. 

“It’s alright, Credence.”

Lockstock was nestled in between two already intimidating No-Maj buildings, the revolving glass door gleaming with the brass frames catching the sunlight. Percival ignored those doors and slid through one of the simpler doors on either side of the spinning glass contraption. Credence shuffled quickly through as his father held the door open, Percival watching the boy carefully before he gently placed his hand on the small of the boy’s back. The goblins gave the two of them stern, suspicious looks, as they were wont to do, and Percival simply led Credence to the Head Banker, the goblin looking down it’s long, pointed nose at them.

“Percival Graves.” The goblin gave Percival a brief once over. “I would ask for your wand, but I suppose I will never have to doubt if you are who you say you are ever again.” The goblin gave a nasty, wide grin, the corners of his lips peeling back to reveal two thin rows of needle like teeth. “You’ll never be disarmed again, I dare say.”

“Now, now, Banker Lamprek.” Percival gave the goblin a steady stare. “I’m simply here to set up an account for my son.”

“Ah yes. The bastard squib boy.” The goblin, Lamprek, tapped long, talon-like nails upon the surface of his desk before shuffling down the steps leading up to the tall, imposing teller’s desk. 

Credence looked down at Lamprek as the goblin assessed him more closely, the boy hesitantly holding his hand to the goblin. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Lamprek.”

The goblin hesitated, obviously confused by the boy’s gentle politeness, before taking the boy’s hand and hesitantly shaking it. “A pleasure.” The goblin mumbled before turning on heel to lead them to the elevator. The gleaming brass contraption rattled the doors closed and Lamprek pulled the lever and said simply. “The Graves account.”

Credence clutched frantically to Percival’s chest as the elevator jolted forward, then down, then sideways, navigating several sharp turns and tunnels before coming to a sharp halt that threw the boy into his father’s broad chest, Percival wrapping his arm more tightly around the slight frame. 

The vault door was opened and Credence couldn’t repress the gasp at the towering number of bank drawers in the vault, the numerous cabinets filled with artifacts, with jewellery and other beautiful, expensive things that Credence could never imagine looking at, much less touching, or owning in any capacity. Lamprek seemed to be ignoring the boy now as he went over to a ledger placed on a table in the center of the room, opening it and clicking his fountain pen open. “Now, will we be making a solely wizarding account for the boy?”

“No, no, please set up a No-Maj account as well.”

Two sharp clicks and two of the boxes sprung free, the name “Credence Graves” appearing on the smooth brass plaques, filling in with crisp black ink right before his eyes. “And how much shall I be putting in each?”

“We’ll say about... A thousand Dragots in each account? Make the necessary conversions for the No-Maj currency, will you?” Percival asked, bored as if he was discussing whether or not he wanted his laundry sent out with the goblin. 

Credence’s eyes were growing increasingly wide at the entire exchange before they became incredibly round at the sight of golden coins and stacks of crisp green bills filling the two separate boxes, one for the gold, the other for the bills. When the boxes were filled to capacity Credence jumped as a small velvet purse appeared atop the golden pile in his new deposit box, and a neat white chequebook appeared on the other. Percival collected both, turning to Lamprek briefly and murmuring in the goblin’s ear before another locked box was summoned and Percival tapped upon the surface. 

Back turned to Credence, the boy couldn’t see around the man’s bulk to see what he pulled from the box, but soon it was sliding back in place, the other two following after Percival had placed a few coins in the purse and then turned dismissively away from the items. Percival could feel the boy’s eyes on him and smiled as he tucked the simple black velvet box he had collected into his coat pocket. Credence would receive the gift in time.

“Now, sweetling,” Credence looked up at Percival as Lamprek shuffled to the elevator, obviously impatiently waiting for them. “You have a thousand Dragots in your account, and in your No-Maj currency you have...” The man opened the chequebook, looking to the last page and squinting slightly, as if trying to decipher ancient runes. “Seven thousand American dollars... Is that a lot?”

Credence felt as if he might have a heart attack, his hands trembling as he held the chequebook in his hands as if it might grow teeth and bite him. 

“Too much?” Percival asked gently, stroking his fingers over the boy’s hair.

A mute, shocked nod, and Percival nodded, tapping his finger upon the chequebook. 

“You now are only allowed a hundred dollars of No-Maj money a day. If you wish for more you may ask me and I will raise the limit. Is that acceptable?”

It was still too much but Credence obviously wasn’t certain as to how to say it, nodding quietly and gingerly accepting back the purse and chequebook. 

“Good, now, honey lamb, I want you to do a favour for Daddy this afternoon.”

Credence nodded silently, looking up at Percival.

“I want you to go to The Strand and buy three catalogues and tonight show Daddy what you’d like.”

“What if I don’t want anything?”

Percival smiled, kissing Credence’s forehead gently. “Then I will simply have to purchase whatever catches my eye for you. Spoil you absolutely rotten.”

\--  
(Lyrics Pieces Book III, Op. 43 No. 6 - Grieg) - childhood memories & wonder/longing & fear  
(Swan Lake, Op. 20: Introduction - Tchaikovsky) - when Credence is being dressed

Mary Lou had stopped letting Credence and Chastity bathe together when they were eight years old. He had vague memories of his sister’s body, but at that age there had been little to differentiate the two of them. When he had been about thirteen he had handed a man a pamphlet, and in exchange the man had handed him a picture torn from the page of what had obviously been a lewd magazine. It had shown a rather detailed picture of a nude girl, legs propped open, two fingers slipped between her thighs and spreading the lips of her genitals open.

With a brand new chequebook in his pocket he had bought numerous books, fiction and non-fiction, and filled two large brown paper bags with his purchases from The Strand. Graves had told him to spend his money, to buy catalogues as well, and so he bit his lip when, as he was standing by the counter, Credence’s eyes caught on the beautifully illustrated front of a fashion magazine and catalogue, for only ten cents each. Before he could question himself he had snatched up the magazine and placed it amongst his other purchases, flushing at the raised brow from the clerk. Returning home he had carefully shelved the books and then locked himself away in his room, stuffing the magazine beneath his bed before promptly trying to forget about it. 

He had lasted about a week before the temptation was too much and he had tugged the brightly coloured pages, a little wrinkled but nothing too damaging, from between his mattress and the boxspring. 

_Adora Girdles! Only $4.50 for a fine silk girdle!_

_Lace Brassiers and Bloomers! On Sale Now at Rollins!_

_Get the Perfect Flapper Look With Setting Pretty Pomade!_

Credence flushed as he paged through the various fashions, some male, but mostly female, lingering at the advertisements and looking over the figures drawn in the current styles. So many articles on how girls could flatten their chests, for rubber brassiers, for tight fitting girdles and the loose, boxy dresses that would guarantee to make a girl looks slender and waiflike. 

_The Boyish Look is IN Ladies! It’s the bees knees! The cat’s meow! Positively creamy sweet! Make your man bend over backwards for you with these tips!_

Standing now, in front of the full length mirror of his bedroom, he couldn’t help but imagine that picture. Imagine the sleek, bobbed hair of the model - his own hair was growing out now, but by no means a bob. Thought of the soft, full lips of the girl - his own lips were full, and as he bit them he could tell that the flush brought to the flesh was fetching. His skin was covered in scars still - but he could tell that without the ugly slashes of tissue his skin would be milky and just as smooth and soft as the girl’s. Long fingers hesitantly drifted down to Credence’s cock, framing the base with two fingers the same way the girl had framed her own genitals in the picture and frowning softly at the sight of the flaccid length dangling unattractively between his thighs. 

Looking to the clothes hung in the closet he shivered and reached out hesitantly, pushing aside one of the beautiful suits to reveal a simple black dress, somewhat similar to what Chastity might have worn. There was another dress, a dark, shimmery purple that would drape down to his ankles if he wore it, the low back revealing the mess of his scars and the curve of his spine. 

He shuffled through more suits, jackets, dresses, women’s trousers, cardigans. He opened the drawers of the small dresser kept inside the closet and bit his lip at the sight of a pair of simple, plain black panties. He hesitated before glancing at the clock. 

Mr. Graves wouldn’t be home until six o’clock. It was only four now, and besides, Credence didn’t... Have to tell the man what he had done... It could be a secret, like when he had gone behind Mary Lou’s back to meet Mr. Graves. 

The thought of lying to the man, however, made the twisting thing that nested in his stomach writhe up to his throat, nearly choking him with the taste and horror.

He sat on the edge of the bed, the stiff girdle and thin silk clutched in his hands as he stared down at them, feeling more frail and vulnerable as his fingers shook and wrung the fabric between his fingers. When he heard the whip-crack sound of Mr. Graves apparating downstairs he didn’t stand as he normally would, didn’t go to greet the man, frozen in place on his bed. He could hear the sounds of Graves mounting the stairs up to his room, walking down the hallway before knocking on the door. 

“Come in.” Credence whispered, staring at his feet as the knob clicked open and Graves stepped in, pausing when he saw the boy sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Credence?” The man stepped forward, taking in his son’s state of undress before he carefully held out his hand. Credence handed over the fabric and instantly his shoulders hunched. He was terrible, he was not worthy of the man’s gentleness. A thousand excuses pressed to his lips, threatening to spill out, like blood pouring from a bitten tongue. “Credence, would you like me to help you get dressed?”

Dark eyes peered up at Mr. Graves, the feline slant of them softened by how wide they were, staring up at him. Like this, the boy looking up at him, hunched and shy, his hand covering himself feebly only to be gently brushed aside by Mr. Graves’ own hand, he was beautiful and so very vulnerable. The man gently laced his wooden fingers with Credence’s own slender set, tugging him until the boy stood. Credence shyly pressed his face to the man’s neck, as if to hide himself from the man’s eyes.

“I can’t dress you like this,” Credence had never heard the man so indulgent, so gentle and kind. There always was a kindness to him, but it had been carefully masked behind a strictness, a purposefully created distance. And now Mr. Graves tugged him gently back, placing the underwear aside for a moment before he took the girdle and wrapped it around Credence’s waist, letting the fabric rest upon his hips, soft thighs pressing together, cradling the limp length of his cock along the crevice of them. 

Each hook brought the girdle tight about him, smoothing his already slim hips gently, keeping him in the current style. Mr. Graves’ strong fingers tugged a bit too roughly as he fixed the hooks, watching as inch by inch Credence’s pale stomach was hidden under the unforgiving fabric of the girdle, cinching his waist tightly, tucking in his flat stomach even more. By the time Mr. Graves had done up the last hook his fingers brushed along the underside of Credence’s pectorals, the man looking up slightly at Credence as the boy was forced to stand straight. 

“Look at you, gorgeous.” The man purred, staring up at Credence and rubbing his hands firmly over the tense, trembling flanks of the boy. “Prettiest picture I ever did see.”

“Mr. Graves, please don’t say things like that.” The boy whispered, flushing as he peered down at his feet and shuffled slightly. 

“What? Can’t I call my son beautiful? Gorgeous? Pretty?” A thumb rubbed gently over Credence’s lip, Mr. Graves’ hard, unforgiving palm cupping his chin as he stared up at the boy. “Precious? Am I not allowed to adore and love my sweet boy?”

Guiltily, Credence could feel his cock twitch against the tense fabric of the girdle, blessedly hidden by the stiff fabric since Mr. Graves had not made him put on the thin silk underwear. He bit his lip as he stared down at Graves, trembling and leaning forward until he could tuck his face against the man’s shoulder and throat, keeping his hips far away from the other man as he stood, barefoot with the garter clips dangling gently against his thighs, dressed in only the conforming black silk. 

He felt breathless as the words crawled up his throat, peeling back his teeth and lips to sneak out into the air. “Thank you, Daddy.”

And if he felt the way Mr. Graves - his Daddy - gripped his hips and waist just a little bit tighter then he didn’t bother to mention it. 

\--  
(White Skin like the Moon - Liebeck, Wallfisch)  
(The Lullaby of Pan’s Labyrinth - Javier Navarrete)

 

“What do you think?”

Percival had never been one for charms, for transfiguration. His repertoire moved more towards hexes and curses, battle magic was the preference of his wand if anything. But now he had pressed his wooden palm to the back of the wardrobe tucked into the corner of his office, made to store his coat and any spare clothing he might need during a long week at the office. The extension charm had worked well and after a few hours of planning and casting careful magic, settling everything and arranging it to his liking, he had finally brought Credence to MACUSA to show him the room.

It was small, smaller than the boudoir that Credence had at home, but with the large, enchanted window looking out on rolling green moors currently, and the small daybed and two small shelves full of books, the entire room was cozy enough that Credence could happily spend an afternoon or evening in the room without suffering from claustrophobia. 

“Now when I need to work long hours, I’ll know you’re well taken care of, sweet boy.” Percival smiled as he gently stroked his fingers over Credence’s back, resting upon his nape gently when those soft, feline eyes looked up at him. 

“You didn’t have to... It’s... It’s no problem.”

Percival thought of how he had found Credence the last three nights in a row, curled up at the base of the stairs, fast asleep, obviously having been waiting for Percival’s return. He thought of how the telephone rang every hour with a worried Credence asking if he was alright, well past the time that Percival had told Credence was time for him to sleep. 

“I wanted to. I want you to feel safe. And when I’m working late at night you don’t feel safe, do you?”

Credence’s eyes darted down, staring at his own hands as he wrung his fingers. “I just... When... When he took your face... When he locked you up... You were gone for so long... And I... I worry.”

Something in Percival’s chest crumbled and broke and he pulled the boy close, as if to fill the sudden painful absence in his chest with Credence himself. “Oh, sweet boy...” His stiff wooden fingers combed through the boy’s soft hair, toying with the fine strands gently. “You won’t lose me again... Ever. I’ll always take care of you, Credence.” He couldn’t help but think of Grindelwald, still locked deep within The Oubliette made to hold him until Britain took him to be tried in Europe. “Come inside.” He murmured, stepping into the wardrobe with Credence, brushing past his coats and jackets and spare slacks, before coaxing the boy onto the daybed. 

The room smelled like Percival’s cologne, something spiced and masculine, and when Credence sat on the bed he couldn’t help but turn his face to breathe in the comforting scent on the plush pillow. He looked perfect, dressed in a simple white shirt and his thin black tie, long legs curled up against his chest as the boy looked up at Percival. 

He was a picture of wide-eyed innocence, as waifish and gentle as any portrait depicting virginal beauty. Percival couldn’t help but feel a thrill of something dark and possessive inside him as he observed the boy before him, all Pre-Raphaelite beauty, like a nymph tempting him deeper into the room. 

Credence’s eyes were already drifting and the man waved his hand, making the window scenery change to evening. The boy looked up at him, confusion clear across his face before the man stroked his jaw. 

“You haven’t slept well, sweetness. You need to sleep.”

“I don’t-” Credence yawned, hiding the sound in the pillow and shivering as Graves stroked his hair gently. 

“Sleep, Credence. I’ll wake you when it’s time to go home.”

Those feline eyes slid shut, Credence nuzzling his cheek against his pillow as he drifted slowly off. “You promise?”

“I promise.”

“Goodnight, Daddy.” The boy slurred, exhaustion finally winning out against stubbornness. Percival smiled, kneeling to tug off the boy’s shoes and remove his pants and tie, leaving him in only his shirt and underwear, a light sheet draped over his slender frame.

“Goodnight, Credence. I love you.” Graves murmured, kissing at the boy’s soft hair before stepping out of the wardrobe, locking it shut before turning to his desk.

When the door to the office opened and Abernathy stepped in some hours later, a stack of papers for his signature in his hands, Percival couldn’t help but think of his beautiful little secret, carefully, lovingly tucked away in the wardrobe, safe and sound and fast asleep now. 

He couldn’t help the pleasant thrill he got from knowing that no one else would ever know about his secret little room, with his most prized treasure resting gently within.

It was only an hour or so after he had locked the door that Percival carefully stood, walking over to the wardrobe and pausing before crouching down, eye lined up to the keyhole to peer into the room he had built. 

Credence lay upon the bed, the night sky still keeping him soothed and sleeping soundly, undisturbed. His lashes fanned out upon his cheeks and the boy’s lips parted softly in sleep, one hand pressed close to his mouth. He was still curled up, but he looked comfortable, relaxed, breathing evenly and sleeping soundly. 

He looked like an angel wrapped up in the simple white sheet, breaths even and restful and his entire body lax as he lay there undisturbed, the sound of soft rain emanating from the room as the overcast scenery of the Scottish moors outside the window turned to a gentle simulated summer storm, the scent of rain even wafting through the keyhole from where Percival watched.

There was a knock on the door and Graves stood, turning quickly to open the door to his office, seeing Tina standing in the doorway, looking hopeful. 

“I heard Credence was here, has he gone home already?” Her eyes cast about the room quickly and Percival gave a brief nod.

“Yes, he’s returned home for the day, poor thing was exhausted.” 

Tina nodded, but didn’t move. “I did want to speak with you about him.”

“And here we are. Speaking together about Credence.” Percival gave her a suspicious frown. “What would you like to speak about?”

“How has he been? The healers said all the damage from the subway was gone, but I still... I worry about him. Has he been... Has he been eating well? Sleeping well?”

Percival felt himself relax a little, gesturing for Tina to sit on the couch he would usually sleep on during particularly long nights. “We haven’t gone to see Saperstein yet, I wanted him to gain a little weight back, get a regular sleep schedule.”

Tina clasped her hands in her lap briefly before she reached into her pocket and pulled out a crumpled letter, that had obviously been opened and read quite a few times. “Newt wrote some suggestions. He’s no healer but I think you might want to hear what he has to say.”

Percival gave the letter a wary look before he took the letter, reading over several lines of instruction and questions. He held up the paper, looking at Tina. “Would you mind if I kept this?”

“Of course not, keep it, write back if you have time.” Tina wrung her hands. “Come on, Percival, tell me how he is.”

“Not eating well.” Percival admitted. “No matter what I try he won’t eat much of anything. He sleeps odd hours and when he does sleep it’s not well. I’ve taken to letting him spend the nights with me just so that when he wakes from nightmares I’ll be there to care for him.” The man rubbed his forehead, looking at Tina, feeling his concerns being brought to the surface. “I can get him to eat one real meal a day and that’s lunch, but he won’t eat the entirety of any others.”

“If you’d like I can have Queenie make some matzo ball soup? He’s probably not used to very rich foods, Percival... One meal might be the only thing he can stomach.”

“Shouldn’t the potions the healers gave him have helped with that, though?” The potions the healers had given both of them, was left unsaid.

“I don’t think so, necessarily. Think about it. Before Grindelwald you were used to eating normal food, much richer food than what Credence is used to. He ate watery stew and porridge in very small portions since he was very small. Went with days without eating at all.” Tina looked at Percival. “The damage that woman wrought on him is going to be much more long term.”

“I... Hadn’t actually considered that.” Percival sheepishly looked to the letter in his hands. “I had assumed...”

“You’re trying, Percival.” The woman smiled, reaching out to grasp Percival’s hand firmly. “We’ll get that matzo ball soup for you and if you need help with cooking we’ll help.”

Percival gave a wry smile, looking at Tina’s earnest face. “Are you calling my domestic spells rubbish?”

“Yes.” Tina smiled widely and Percival, not for the first time since he had met Credence, envied her warmth, her easy affection and caring. “They are.”

Percival couldn’t help but laugh as he shook his head. “Fair enough, Tina. Fair enough.”

\--  
(The Labyrinth - Javier Navarrete)

 

Percival Graves had never considered himself a fatherly man. He was a cold man, a harsh man. Often it seemed as if touching him would freeze your hand to his flesh, and when you finally managed to peel your palm away a sheaf of skin would remain clinging to the frigid surface of him. The most physical contact he had with most people was a firm, polite handshake before he stepped aside.

Credence couldn’t be treated like that, though. Ever since he had met the Second Salem boy he knew that the frail, touch-starved boy would respond best to being coddled, gently touched and cradled close. Percival’s vision, painful and brief and cutting through his eyes and mind as surely as any blade, had revealed that the obscurial would be one of Mary Lou Barebone’s brood, and at first he had suspected little Modesty. However, the more he touched Credence, the more he cradled the boy’s face, held him close, felt him trembling and vulnerable with something lurking - _seething_ \- in the pale blue veins beneath the skin of fragile wrists. The first time he had gently pushed Credence away, testing, carefully keeping distance between their bodies, the boy’s very _being_ had rebelled at the loss, those fae, lost, starving eyes staring up at Percival as if he had been slapped across the face. 

Something had _rippled_ in the air around them and Percival had known, had realised his own absolute blindness. What he had been looking for had been right before him the entire time. He had hidden the knowledge best as he could from Grindelwald, and honestly had been surprised that the man hadn’t felt it every time he touched Credence while wearing Graves’ face. Perhaps the man had been so repulsed by the prospect of the boy being a squib that he had chosen to ignore what was so very obvious right before his eyes.

Now, with Credence in his care, his son in his care, he couldn’t help but touch him, pull Credence close, shield him from the world that had neglected him, forgotten him, failed him. He had failed his son for far too long, had not even known about him, and now... Now he would make up for all of it. 

The touches were almost constant, chaste as a general rule, his hand on Credence’s face, the back of his neck, his shoulder and hands and arms, pulling him close by snagging him about the waist. Sometimes in the evening he would stretch out on the overstuffed couch in the living room and pull Credence until he was laying atop Percival’s own sturdy frame. Other times he would sit with Credence’s shoulder lightly resting against his own, the boy’s eyes directed away from the man’s own as he read whatever book he had purchased recently. 

In public the boy was still reserved as ever, afraid to do much more than hold Percival’s own hand, and even then the moment they entered MACUSA he would wriggle his hand free of his father’s grip. Credence had shyly started to call him Daddy, rather than Mr. Graves, in the privacy of their own home. He had grown more comfortable with the moniker and Percival had privately felt some relief with that. Father sounded too cold, almost as bad as Director, and he’d be lying if he hadn’t fantasized about Credence’s lips wrapped around the word “Daddy” since only a few meetings after their first encounter.

That being said, he had felt incredible amounts of delight when Credence had slipped up in front of Percival’s team of aurors. He had been caught up in a conversation with them about a recent case, some disappearances of House Elves across most of the East Coast, the entire team chipping in to debrief Director Graves on their progress while Credence patiently waited beside the man, his brows furrowed softly at the sight of the board lit up with small red lights where the elves had gone missing. 

Percival hadn’t noticed Queenie approaching or speaking with Credence, the man holding his folded reading glasses up to the map to read street names more clearly, until the boy had gently tugged on his sleeve, leaning closer until he could speak to Graves. 

“Daddy, Queenie said she has poppyseed cakes downstairs, may I go with her?”

The thrill in his chest and the triumphant roar of blood in his ears had drowned out all else, until the spell of the small, innocuous sentence was broken by Auror Pines snorting into his cup of coffee and drawing Credence’s attention. The moment the boy realised his mistake his face flushed a mortified red and he ducked his head, hunching his shoulders and seeming as if he wanted very much to hide in the shadow of his father’s stocky frame. 

“Something funny, Pines?” Percival raised a thick brow and the Auror in question cleared his throat, shaking his head even as he glanced at Credence, the boy being led away by a fussing, well-intentioned Queenie. 

“Bit old to be calling you Daddy, isn’t he?”

Whether or not Director Percival Graves was capable of wandless magic, everyone was fairly certain that he hadn’t needed it to make the temperature drop several degrees in the room, staring down Pines as the man’s eyes flickered from Graves’ own gaze to the floor then back again.

“Sorry, Graves. Didn’t mean to embarrass the kid.”

Percival stepped forward, the heavy fall of his polished wingtip on the floor echoing about the silence that had fallen over the team of Aurors, all of which seemed terrified of being the first to speak out of turn. “His name is Credence, Auror Pines, and he is my son.” Two more steps and Graves was looking down at the man, his eyes narrowing as Pines refused to meet his gaze. “He can call me whatever he pleases. Unlike you, who will address me as Director Graves.”

The message was clear to all who would listen.

“I want all the information about this case, on my desk, by four.” Was all he said by way of dismissing the team, turning to the elevator and telling Red to take him to Queenie. 

Credence was seated with the witch, watching her with wide, awe-filled eyes as more sweet cakes, cookies, and hot coffee were made for her cart, mixing and cooking and perfecting themselves in mid air. Chocolate chips were shaped like little butterflies and Credence gasped in delight when one fluttered over to him, lighting on his finger when he held it out for the small piece of chocolate. It wasn’t until Credence popped his finger into his mouth did he notice Percival standing in the doorway to the small kitchenette, Queenie’s eyes lighting with a quiet, protective interest, no doubt catching the tail end of the thoughts seeing Credence always seemed to induce in him.

“How is my sweet boy?” He asked, gentle and smiling as Credence removed his finger from his own mouth with a flush, looking up at his father with a shy smile. 

“Queenie said she’d take me shopping if you let me.” The boy whispered, looking up at Percival with wide, pleading eyes. 

Queenie was watching them both carefully, her warm eyes bearing the same sharpness that Tina’s got when she was focused on the details of a case, and Percival could feel her own consciousness creeping along the edge of his own, like a stray cat trying to sneak into a pub for scraps. 

“What is that one verse I’ve heard so much about...” Percival tucked his hands into his pockets, smiling down at Credence with a raised brow. “Ask and ye shall receive?”

The flush that covered Credence’s face was delightful, turning his milky skin the most pleasant shade of pink, his teeth biting softly at his lips before he looked up at his father. “May I please go out with Queenie... Daddy?”

Thin lips curled indulgently as Percival stared down at Credence, tugging out his coin purse and the wallet he had begun to keep No-Maj currency in. He pulled out several Dragots and several more No Maj bills and handed them over to Credence, the boy’s eyes still widening at the sight of so much money. “Spend every last bit of it, Credence.” He ordered gently, kissing the boy’s forehead before he stroked his palm over the soft curve of his cheek.

Credence flushed and looked down at the money, fidgeting softly, crinkling the bills and rubbing the coins together in the way that informed Percival that there was something wrong but he was afraid to say.

“Credence. Tell me.”

Credence fumbled and handed back half of the money, looking up at Percival silently as the gold coins and neatly folded bills glittered against the dark wood of the man’s hand. Percival couldn’t help but smile gently. It seemed that no matter how much or little he put into the boy’s accounts, handing him the physical money was still a daunting and terrifying thing to the frugal boy.

The man smiled gently, stroking Credence’s cheek gently. “Too much?”

A nod and then the boy was leaning forward, wrapping his arms tightly around his waist for a hug, tucking his face against Percival’s chest and letting out a few shaky, nervous breaths. Percival didn’t push the boy away, wrapping his arm around the thin shoulders and stroking his fingers through his hair. 

When Credence disengaged Queenie came over, reminding the two of her presence and gently coaxing Credence into standing and helping her load up sweets onto her trolley. “You can make the last rounds with me, Honey! Everyone will be very happy to have more coffee and poppyseed cakes!”

Percival stepped back, watching the two bustle about and feeling something pleased coiling languidly in his chest as he thought of the two going out shopping and what Credence might bring back.

After all, a treat for his sweet boy was a treat for himself as well.

\--  
(Piano Phase - Steve Reich) [dizzying] [not happy with this one. Remind me to come back to it later]

 

“Are you finished with your drink, Mr. Graves?”

Percival’s head snapped up at that, raising a brow at the boy even as Credence avoided his eyes. The man took in the sight of the boy, dressed in his usual suit and fiddling with his fingers as he stood beside the couch where on a normal evening Credence would sit with him while he had a drink and read the Ghost until it got late enough to go to bed.

“Credence. What have we said about calling me Mr. Graves?”

“I... I don’t want to call you Daddy.” The boy whispered, staring down at his feet even as his voice wavered. “It’s... It’s for children.”

“You are my child.” Percival placed his glass and book aside, removing the round reading glasses he wore and looking up at where Credence was standing beside him, fingers fiddling together and lightly picking at his nails. The man reached out, tugging Credence until the boy was in his lap. “Is this about Pines?”

Credence flushed brightly and Percival gave his boy a knowing look, carefully folding his glasses, darkly polished fingers tucking them into his breast pocket. 

“Credence, you will not call me Mr. Graves. That’s the name that Abernathy in Wand Permits calls me, or Queenie when we’re at work. You’re the most important person in my life and I won’t have you calling me Mr. Graves.”

The boy leaned forward, hiding his face in Percival’s neck as the man’s hand slid over his thigh and hip, up his side and back in a soothing motion before making the same journey down. “I don’t want people to make fun of me.”

“Do other people matter?” Percival whispered, not expecting an answer to the question as his wooden fingers gently grasped the boy’s chin to keep him from looking away. “No, they don’t, Credence. What matters is you and me. Only you and me.”

Credence trembled in his grip, pulling back and pouting softly. “I’m not a baby.”

“You’re certainly acting like one.” The man gave a raised brow. “Do I need to bend you over my knee?”

He felt Credence tense and a shiver wrack through him, and there was no way he could miss the way Credence’s pupils blew wide, the dark irises of his gaze turning to faint rings of brown as he stared at Percival. 

It was stupid, it was immoral, it was a very bad idea, but Percival couldn’t stop the way his hands maneuvered Credence until the boy was laying across his lap. His hand kneaded over the soft curve of the boy’s ass and he knew he hadn’t imagined the way Credence pressed into the touch, the boy’s fingers tangling in Percival’s slacks. The older man tugged the fabric of Credence’s own pants down, revealing the edge of the stiff girdle and the thin silk underwear Credence had taken to wearing. 

“Five to start with, I think. See if the message sinks in.” Percival gave a firm smack and Credence jerked, eyes wide in shock as they turned to stare up at his father. The strike wasn’t a hard one but he didn’t seem to know what to do with it, tense and trembling as Percival rubbed his flesh hand over the soft flesh of his ass and gave a squeeze before delivering the second strike. The third made Credence head hang between his shoulders and his hips give an aborted little thrust against Percival’s hand. By the time Percival was finished he could feel the beginnings of warmth through the thin fabric of Credence’s underwear, seeing the edges of pinkened flesh cut through by the black silk. He could also feel the hot hardness pressing against his own thigh, Credence rocking his hips down against Percival’s leg in small, eager motions. 

“Now, Credence. Have you learned your lesson?”

There was a hesitant little pause before Credence’s dark eyes flickered up to Percival and he whispered. “Yes, Mr. Graves.”

Smack!

Percival brought his hand down a little bit harder than before, watching the way Credence’s thighs clenched reactively and he lunged forward, rubbing his clothed cock against his father’s thigh with the motion. “You obviously haven’t. Try again.”

“F-father.” Credence whispered, breathless and trembling in anticipation, looking up at the man even as he pressed his no-doubt sensitive rump against the hot, heavy hand resting there. Which was really all he needed to bring down his hand again to smack the boy firmly.

“Close, Credence, very close.”

“Daddy.” The boy whined, lowering his head to the plush cushion of the couch, his cock twitching obviously against Percival’s own thigh. “Daddy, please.”

“Please what, Credence?”

“I don’t know.”

“Do you want more?” The man asked, his hand lingering on the swell of Credence’s ass.

“No... I want...” Credence paused, as if trying to find the proper words for what he wanted, only for Percival to slide his palm between Credence’s thighs, cradling his hard cock through thin silk. “That.” He gasped, rocking against the hand.

This had crossed over into whole new levels of illegal and immoral and wrong but Percival couldn’t bring himself to care. Especially not when Credence whimpered out nothing but soft, pleading noises and Daddy against the couch’s upholstery. 

“This is a very private thing, Credence.” The man murmured, his voice rough and low as he let Credence rock against his calloused fingers. “It’s my job as your Daddy to discipline you as well as take care of your needs. You can’t let just anyone do this.” His fingers tightened marginally and Credence arched and gasped at the touch before trembling and relaxing slightly, peering over his shoulder at Percival with teary eyes and trembling lips. The hunger curling and coiling in the man’s chest growled low and hungry, the noise working it’s way into Percival’s own throat. “No one else is allowed to have you like this. Ever.”

Credence gasped wetly and nodded, cheek rubbing against the couch as his cock twitched against Percival’s palm. “Y-yes, Daddy, no one but - oh...” Credence’s body twitched fitfully as a thumb rubbed against his twitching, eager little hole, Percival unable to resist the temptation.

It didn’t take much for Credence to come, staining the inside of his underwear and shivering as Percival continued to rub and knead at his softening cock until Credence’s voice choked on a whimper.

Looking down at those dark, feline eyes Percival couldn’t help the hardness in his own slacks, knowing that the moment Credence went to bed he’d be laying in his own bed, stroking himself to completion to the memory of the completely vulnerable look of Credence, laid out over his lap, staring up at him, thighs pressed together and fingers loosening their grip on the upholstery.

“Have you learned your lesson, Credence?” He asked, voice hoarse with need and desire.

“Yes, Daddy.” The boy whispered, standing on shaky, coltish legs and staring down at his underwear as he stepped out of the fabric of his slacks that had pooled about his ankles. Credence leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to the rough texture of Graves’ five o’clock shadow. “Thank you, Daddy.” 

“Remember what I said, Credence.” The man murmured, his hand smoothing over the boy’s waist gently. “No one but Daddy.”

\--  
(Nocturne in A minor - Chad Lawson)

“Hello, Credence, I’m Healer Saperstein.”

Credence shuffled and nodded quietly as he looked up at the Healer, his hand searching out Mr. Graves’ own as he sat on the examination table. His father easily reached out and took Credence’s fingers in his own, rubbing his thumb over white knuckles as the boy clenched his hand tightly.

Healer Saperstein’s eyes were kind and blue and gentle, his beard and hair looked soft and stark white, he was heavy set with the build of someone who lived well, comfortably. His shirt was a buttery yellow and his suit was white along with a pink tie that Credence couldn’t help but be delighted by. He peered at Credence through thick little lunettes, which magnified his eyes to such enormous proportions it was almost difficult to not giggle every time the man blinked owlishly down at him. “I’ve been employed by the Graves family for quite some time. I tended to your Great Grandfather when he was a boy, and your Grandmother when she was pregnant with your father here.”

Credence nodded quietly, fiddling with his fingers slightly. “Hello, Healer Saperstein.” He whispered, glancing down and away shyly. 

“Ah! So you can talk.” The Healer smiled warmly and made a note on his board clip, the polished wood looking much nicer than the ones Credence had seen in other places, including MACUSA. “Excellent. Now, I’m going to conduct an examination, just the basics, making sure you’re healthy and there’s nothing life threatening. After that we can talk about any questions you might have.”

Mr. Graves gave a reassuring squeeze when Credence’s fingers spasmed and tensed before the boy nodded.

“I’ll need you to undress but you can leave your underwear on, then lay down on your back on the table.”

Credence hesitated but obeyed easily enough, shivering as he stared up at the man moving to stand over him. Heavy, steady hands pressed to Credence’s ribs, then gently prodded at his stomach, massaging his neck just below his jaw, carefully feeling over places where the scars on Credence’s skin were particularly nodded. He didn’t speak much other than to occasionally ask “does this hurt” or “breathe in please”. 

“Alright, let's get your shirt back on...” Credence gratefully accepted the thin cotton barrier before he was looking up and Healer Saperstein held up his wand, the tip lit with a quiet lumos. “Follow the light with your eyes, Credence... That’s it...”

A few more tests, hearing, swallowing, reflexes, and the man sat down, making his notes for a few minutes of silence before he turned to face Credence. “Now then. If you have any questions for me, feel free to ask.”

There were a dozen questions whirling through Credence’s mind, but embarrassment made him bite his tongue.

“Would you prefer your Father wait outside?”

“No!” Credence shook his head, clutching at Mr. Graves’ hand. “I just... I... My scars...” Credence shivered, pressing a hand briefly to his shoulder. “Could you heal them?”

“With such large amounts of tissue it would be painful, and lengthy, but I could remove your scars, yes.” Healer Saperstein smiled as he looked at the boy, raising an eyebrow. “Anything else?”

“I... Um... I get dreams... And I don’t... I don’t want them.” The boy whispered, staring down at his lap, wringing his fingers.

“Nightmares.” Mr. Graves explained gently. Credence nodded, not bothering to correct him as he glanced up at Saperstein.

“Well, Percival isn’t too handy with potions, never could get him to work on that, but I think a prescription for Dreamless Sleep is in order. Take as needed, but be careful not to be too dependent on it. A spoonful a night should be fine.”

The Healer wrote on a slip of crisp white paper and handed it to Credence, who trembled as he hesitantly reached out but didn’t take the paper, as if it might burst into flames. Mr. Graves reached out to take the slip when Credence’s hand hovered for quite a bit longer than appropriate. 

“Anything else, Credence?” Healer Saperstein smiled down at him, patient of the fearful creature before him. 

“I... I can’t perform magic, can I?” The boy whispered, staring down at his lap. “I’m broken.”

“Not necessarily broken, Credence.” Healer Saperstein paused, looking for the proper words. “Not much is known about obscuri, Credence. What might have very well happened is that your magic, in an attempt to keep you alive when the obscurus was removed, sacrificed itself. Magic is something you’re born with, yes, but it’s more... You are a host for it. And you, Credence, for all intents and purposes, had two warring parasites inside you and they were dead set on killing each other.” The Healer smiled gently, trying or reassuring. “You’ll never perform more than accidental magic, small things, if even that, but in the end you’re alive, and that’s all that matters.”

Tears gathered in Credence’s eyes and he sobbed softly, pressing his face to Mr. Graves’ shoulder as the man gently gathered him close. “I’m sorry.” He whimpered and Saperstein had the insight to say nothing. “P-please don’t - don’t send me away, please, Daddy.”

A firm hand grasped Credence’s jaw, tugging him until the boy could stare up at him. “I will not send you anywhere. Ever. You are my son and I will not send you away because of this.”

Tears still clung to his lashes and Credence felt his heart lodged in the base of his throat, shivering and sniffling as he tucked his face against Mr. Graves’ jaw, clinging tightly to his vest and jacket as the man rubbed soothing, firm circles along his back with the firm wood of his prosthetic.

When Credence stopped his shaking he straightened, noting that Healer Saperstein had left the room to give them privacy. Blinking back more tears, this time of humiliation, Credence looked up at Graves from where he was slumped forward in his seat. The man smiled down at him, as gentle and kind and indulgent as ever, and Credence felt his heart leaping in his chest, crawling like some small clawed creature up the soft tissues of his throat. 

“I love you, Credence.” The man murmured, kissing the boy’s forehead gently before brushing his nose lightly over Credence’s own. “Never doubt that.”

\--  
(Standchen en re mineur, S.560 - Liszt)  
(Edith’s theme - Velazquez)

It had become apparent to Percival Graves that while he admitted he had been rather dismissive of his mother’s insistence to go to Sunday Mass in his youth that Credence still held the need for such a ritual. There was only so much that Mr. Graves could provide for the boy with grace before meals and bedtime prayers whispered as they both knelt beside Credence’s bed. He had recounted rather vivid memories of his own childhood every time they prayed together gently, of kneeling beside the bed, whispering soft, nursery-rhyme prayers until he was old enough to clearly understand the point of prayer, his mother watching from the doorway silently, her dark eyes approving as he obediently made his recitations. Credence had whispered quietly that he wished his introduction to prayer, to faith, had been so kind.

Now, with Credence quietly sneaking glances at any building with a cross and a congregation, the trickiest part had been finding a No-Maj congregation in New York that was completely ignored by MACUSA, as all religious No-Maj organization was considered a threat to the Statute of Secrecy. It had taken Mr. Graves months to find a “safe” congregation, and he had insisted that it must be Catholic if they were to go to one anyway and that made the search even more difficult.

He settled for the Prince of Peace congregation nestled deep in Manhattan. It was a clean, white edifice, a simple sign with brass letters upon it hung over the double doors. Every Sunday, every hour before mass, the priest stood, smiling and shaking the hands of the congregation as they entered, dressed in his stark black robe before he donned his vestments for the Mass.

Credence’s eyes were wide and round as he pressed close to Mr. Graves’ side, wearing a simple black dress. He had been terrified of the catalogues, of the items he had ordered, of wearing them in public, but the quiet thrill he had felt at mailing off his cheque along with his order list. Going to church he couldn’t justify something silk and lace, not like what he wore around the apartment, or the pantsuits closer to what Miss Tina wore that he had quietly started going to MACUSA and Goethic’s in, so this dress was something neater, more stylish than what Mary Lou or Chastity had worn, but still conservative. He felt somewhat shameful, indulging in this, dressing as he did, while going to church but when they had been dressing that morning and Credence had put on his suit, Mr. Graves had seen how he had longingly looked to the closet again. The crisp, neat lines of the dress and the high white collar made Credence thrill slightly in his chest.

“Hello, sir, I’ve never seen you before.” The priest smiled as he shook Mr. Graves’ hand firmly. 

“Percival Graves.” The man brusquely shook hands with the priest before ushering Credence inside, finding a seat at the end of the pew for the two of them. 

“That was rude, Daddy.” Credence whispered shyly, looking up at the man. 

“I didn’t want any prying questions about you, sweetling.” Mr. Graves murmured softly, kissing Credence’s cheek. “Now sit still and we will enjoy the Mass.”

“Ephesians 5:28-32,” The priest, Father Patrick Mulcahy’s voice was strong, yet gentle, his eyes peering out from his spectacles as he took in his congregation. “In the same way husbands should love their wives as their own bodies. He who loves his wife loves himself. For no one ever hated his own flesh, but nourishes and cherishes it, just as Christ does the church, because we are members of his body. “Therefore a man shall leave his father and mother and hold fast to his wife, and the two shall become one flesh.” This mystery is profound, and I am saying that it refers to Christ and the church.”

Credence looked to the priest with rapturous attention, his fingers clenching in his lap, Mr. Graves not looking away from the priest as he reached down to gently tangle his own fingers with Credence’s. 

“The old testament does not shy away from comparing the marriage between man and woman as the same as the covenant between God and his people. The fidelity of the husband and wife reflects the faithfulness of God to his people, of Christ to his church. As children of God we must always strive to return that enduring faith to the Father, ceaselessly obedient and loving and faithful. Your devotion should first be to God, and then to your spouse. Husbands, be gracious and respectful of your wives. Wives, be obedient and respectful of your husbands. Your vows declare that until death parts you you will honour and love one another. With divorce as a plague upon the sanctity of marriage, now more than ever should those vows be taken to heart.”

Credence looked shyly up at Mr. Graves as the man leaned over, whispering to Credence softly. “You must first be loving and obedient to me, Credence. Before anyone else.” The man kissed Credence’s cheek ever so softly, soothing his fingers over the sharp curve of it. “I can’t just let some man come and steal Daddy’s favourite.”

Pale cheeks flushed brightly, Credence pausing before he turned his face ever so slightly. They were in a church where no one knew them, no one knew that underneath the soft dress and modest kitten heels, beneath the chaste hand holding, the soft kisses, that they were father and son. Credence could pretend, could imagine, just for a little bit, for this hour a week on Sundays, that he was Mrs. Graves. 

“Until death do us part.” Credence whispered softly, hiding his face gently against Mr. Graves’ collar. “I promise.”

\--  
(Swan Lake, Op. 20, Act II: Danse de coupes, Valse, Scene - Tchaikovsky)

 

A week later, wrapped in a silk houserobe, Credence’s hands didn’t shake as he took the razor into his hand, staring at the lathered line of Percival’s neck. He started at the left jaw, carefully pulling the blade down in an even, long line, wiping off the cream into the porcelain sink before he did another long, slow drag of the blade. Then another. The straight razor rasped against the man’s skin and Credence’s eyes remained focused single-mindedly on the task. This was routine for them now. Percival had cut himself one too many times with his new arm and Credence had quietly, gently insisted that perhaps he could help. So the boy helped Percival with the more delicate tasks of his morning routine. Doing up his buttons, gently shaving his face, and ending the whole ritual with a soft kiss to the man’s cheek and a “have a good day at work, Daddy.”

He sat perched on Graves’ bathroom counter, dressed in only a long, silk black robe dripping with soft silk fringe at the sleeves and hems. It was tied shut and Graves couldn’t help but stare at the way the neckline gave peeks of collarbones and the valley of the boy’s sternum. He wanted to lean forward, press against the blade gliding over his Adam’s apple, suck at the dip of Credence’s collarbone and suck a bruise into the milky white flesh of his pectoral, leave behind a much more pleasurable mark than the scars that still cover the boy.

Percival thinks of that tantalising flesh, held just out of reach only by the blade held to his throat, a blade that he is seriously considering pressing forward against, leaning into, letting it cut through skin and flesh and cartilage until it reaches bone -

“There, all done.” Credence gently patted off the remains of the shaving cream with a towel, carefully cleaning and closing the blade before replacing it in the kit. 

The man pulled his thoughts back to reality, staring at Credence as the boy carefully slid off of the counter, adjusting the fall of the silk robe he had taken to wearing about the house. “You like that, don’t you?”

“I like how it feels on my skin.” Credence flushed even as he said the words, running his fingers and palms over his thighs where the fabric rested curved around his hips. Percival slid his own hands over the gentle curve of Credence’s waist, staring up at the boy and taking him in.

His hair was nicely grown out. Credence had insisted on keeping it relatively short, but now it licked about his cheeks, trimmed neatly at the back rather than shorn far too short. It was soft and feathery and glossy black rather than brittle and stiff. His skin had taken on that same soft quality and Percival couldn’t help but send a silent thanks to Queenie for buying Credence a bottle of lotion. Ever since then the routine of Credence sitting in the bathroom, door open, smoothing the cream onto his skin had been introduced and Graves was helpless but to indulge. He looked touchable now, not as if he would shatter beneath the slightest graze of fingers. He had softened, his stomach no longer so concave. He would never be broad or muscular, but he was lithe and slender and lean, beautifully proportioned and Percival could hardly help but stare and watch as his sweet boy moved about.

“Credence.” The boy glanced at him and Percival’s hands rested gently on his waist, kneading the curve gently. Credence’s eyes fixed more solidly on Percival and the man smiled as he leaned in to press a kiss to the boy’s chest, just over the beating of his heart. “You look lovely, you know.”

The boy’s eyes were averted again and he didn’t say anything as Graves stroked his fingers over the line of his waist up to cup his ribcage. 

“You are. You don’t see it, but I do... See all the Aurors... People at Goethics and The Strand... Every time we go out to dinner... People stare.” The man’s fingers squeezed and Credence shivered, pressing his chest against the man’s touch. “I stare.”

“Daddy...” The boy whispered, his fingers tangling in the loose strands of Percival’s hair, holding him close to his breast as the man started to suck at the flesh. 

Percival peeled his lips back from the tender flesh, his fingers tugging at the boy’s robe, pressing him back until Credence was perched on the counter, one bony hand grasping the edge as the other tugged softly at Percival’s hair. 

He remembers a time before Grindelwald where he had kissed the boy. A soft, chaste thing, given when Credence had looked up at him and whispered softly about how he had read in a magazine a phrase that had puzzled him. “Sweet sixteen and never been kissed.”

“An advertisement of virginity. Showing that a girl hasn’t been fooling around.”

Credence had flushed and said, “I’ve been... Fooling around with you. But I’ve still never been kissed.”

How could Percival have resisted that? Leaning down to gently kiss Credence’s full, flushed lips, nuzzling against his mouth in a tender but still chaste kiss. 

Now... Now Graves pressed much more ravenous kisses, satiating the hunger that had bloomed and grown in his chest like a Devil’s Snare. “You know, I almost wept when I learned you were my son.” The man growled, feeling Credence tense and a soft whimper escape the boy as Percival pulled back. His eyes, feline and soft, were almost inky black now with desire, full lips flushed red and Percival felt weak as he felt long, slender legs curl against his sides, tugging him closer, trying to cage him against the boy. The man turned his head, pressing a kiss to the curve of his ribcage and sweeping his palm down to squeeze a thigh. “Almost wanted to deny it, knowing I could never have you the way I wanted, the way I craved you.” The man stared up at Credence, watching as the boy’s lips parted and his thighs pressed to Percival’s sides, holding him closer. “Tell me to stop and I will... Tell me to stop and we can forget this.” 

“I don’t think I want to forget this.” Credence gasped, staring down at Percival with an echoing hunger, his fingers tangling in the man’s hair. “I think I want more, Daddy.”

A shuddering groan and Percival swept his lips down Credence’s chest, pressing to his stomach briefly before the older man stood, staring down at Credence and tugging until the boy could feel the hot, hard press of his father’s erection against his thighs. He thought of Grindelwald briefly, who had never touched Credence like this, too blind to see the treasure that Percival had found amongst the Second Salmers. He thought of all the people who had never seen Credence, who had ignored him, who had called him freak and other terrible names. He thought of Mary Lou Barebone and how she had given the boy a name that he should not have suffered at all, who had tried to erase magic from the boy, who had tried to erase Graves from him. 

“I want to give you everything.” Percival murmured, biting softly at the tender skin of Credence’s neck, groaning as the boy arched his head back and gasped at the press of teeth gently against his throat. “I want to do... Wicked things to you.” He groaned, dragging his mouth over the curve of Credence’s Adam’s apple. 

“It’s a sin.” The boy gasped, his thighs trembling as they held Percival close, his chest heaving for breath as he whimpered and his lip trembled. “Daddy, I... I can’t... I want - I want - but... I-”

“Do you want daddy to take the choice away?” Percival grasped at Credence’s flesh, pushing aside delicate silk to palm at the smooth, luscious expanse of the boy’s thigh. “Want me to make the choice for you? Make you accept and give as I take?”

“Yes.” Credence moaned, his fingers tightening in anticipation as he trembled and moaned and shivered against Percival’s chest.

The man slowly, carefully detached himself from the boy, kissing him one last time, long and slow, before he stood, looming over the figure curled nearly in half upon the bathroom vanity, staring up at him with confused eyes. “Dress up in your pretties for me for lunch.” The firm wood of Percival’s prosthetic cupped Credence through his robe, kneading gently before he pulled back. “I want to see you dolled up.”

Credence shivered and nodded, watching as his father stepped back, adjusting himself, fixing his hair and the mussed clothing, before he dragged his eyes over Credence once more. “I will see you at noon for lunch.”

And then he was gone, apparating out of the bedroom with a crack of displaced air.

Credence shivered, slumping against the counter and gasping for breath he couldn't seem to catch. His fingers shook and he tilted his head back until it rested upon the wall beside the mirror, pressing his palms against his thighs to feel the way the flesh eagerly trembled for the touch. He moaned, pressing his palms softly at first then firmly, mimicking how his father had pressed and touched and kneaded at the soft skin. He stared down at the obscene curve of his erection, heavy and hard and curved against his stomach, smearing a wet spot on his silk robe.

He made a face down at the hard flesh, carefully closing his legs and trying to will it away, rehearsing the books of the bible, every hateful horrid verse that Mary Lou had beaten into him, counting his scars, and the reasons he had them for those he could remember. By the time he was flaccid again he was shivering and slumped against the wall, staring down at himself for a moment before he stood and moved to the bathtub, dropping the soiled robe to the floor and carefully placing his hand on the rim of the tub.

“Water, please.” He whispered, smiling when the tub was quickly filled with hot water, allowing the boy to slip in, hissing at the scalding liquid but enjoying it too much to ask for the tub to refill it cooler. Mary Lou had never let him have hot water. When Chastity had started to bleed Mary Lou had reluctantly let her boil water to scrub the red stains from between her thighs, but never Credence. Even in the dead of winter he had been unable to heat water for fear of Mary Lou’s vicious wrath.

Now... Now he could enjoy long, luxurious baths. He and Queenie had bought a delicately sweet scented bath oil that made Credence’s skin smell pleasant all day long, softening the tender expanses of skin along with the lotion Queenie had giggled and winked and insisted that, “Mr. Graves will appreciate it when the time comes.”

Collecting his own razor from the small shelf near the edge of the tub, Credence lifted a leg from the water, watching beads of moisture roll down the flesh. It had been embarrassing to even think it and not for the first time Credence was grateful that Queenie was a legilimens, as she had bustled about her apartment and proceeded to show Credence how to shave himself, every inch, when the traitorous thought had entered his mind. 

He carefully shaved his legs, under his arms, what scant hair had grown on his chest, his face, and then, oh so carefully, ridding himself of the thicker, more wiry hair between his legs and curling about the base of his cock. 

Not for the first time he thought of Queenie and her easy beauty, of her enviable figure and warm smiles and cozy home. He thought of sitting on the edge of her bathtub, both of them naked from the waist down, and the older woman showing him how to properly use the razor, how to hold it and carefully soften the hair he wished to cut and ease the itch of the sudden bareness. He knew she could hear the thoughts going through his head and had worried at first over them, over her knowing that his fascination with her own genitals had hardly been sexual in nature but envious. 

She looked... Cute. Neat. Soft, clean curves and lines, and a small, neatly trimmed smattering of hair. No matter how he looked at himself he couldn’t help but make a face at how he seemed... Too big but at the same time too small and unimpressive, like he had a strange form of eel or hag fish between his thighs. Yes, he envied Queenie for a lot of things, but certainly one of the most shameful things he envied was something that he shouldn’t have even been allowed to see.

Finishing shaving he drained the tub, refilled it, and began to scrub his hair and every inch of his body, thinking of his father and how he was expected for lunch. He thought of his closet, filled with men and women’s clothes, selected with the insistence of “you can wear whatever pleases you so long as it pleases you” and about how Mr. Graves’ eyes darkened whenever he wore women’s clothing especially. No normal father, he was sure, would purchase such an array for his son, certainly not a son he hadn’t even known he had. He dried himself off with a fluffy towel that smelled like Mr. Graves’ aftershave and sighed as he bundled himself in the soft fabric.

Standing in Mr. Graves’ bedroom, Credence peeked over at the bed, neatly made with a white box resting atop it. 

He glanced at the door to the bedroom, already open and revealing the silent and empty brownstone before he stepped forward to perch on the edge of his father’s bed. He carefully opened the box and gasped at the sight of delicate black lace, keeping the shape of a girdle but seeming far too frail to truly do the job of Credence’s more stiff, restraining underthings. But the delicate arches and points of the venetian style lace all but called to Credence and he shivered as he tugged the fabric free, looking into the box to stare at the new stockings, lace panties, and delicate pair of black satin dancing shoes. He let the towel remain on the bedspread as he stood, moving to hold the black lace girdle in front of his body, feeling far too big and gangly for it without his body forced into simple curves and softened lines. 

But it was left out for him and Credence couldn’t even begin to resist the soft lace and how it felt against his bare skin. 

Getting into the fragile underthings was always a struggle, an exercise in patience and moving slowly, methodically, until he was tucked into the delicate fabric. What he hadn’t expected was the tingle of magic against his skin and the way the lace suddenly seemed so much tighter than it looked, much more constricting, forcing his shape the same way his stiff silk girdle did. 

Shivering, he bit his lip and walked slowly to his bedroom, listening to the click of short, delicate heels onto the hardwood floor of the hallway, dressed in only his underthings and enjoying the audacity of those wide open windows that anyone could look through and see him in venice lace and black synthetic silk. When he got to his own closet he paused before collecting a simple black silk dress, the dropped waist of it tied with a black sash trimmed in shots of white and red embroidery. There was a matching shawl that he wrapped about his shoulders before sitting at his vanity, peering at himself in the mirror, stunned and pleased at the way he looked even before he started to apply the simple makeup he and Queenie had bought a few days ago.

He was still painfully flat chested but in the latest fashion it wasn’t as obvious that his shoulders were too broad. His face was still distinctly masculine, but his hair, grown out just enough to feather about his cheekbones softened him a bit. He rouged his lips and blushed his cheeks, drawing thin, careful lines of khol about his eyes, making them seem even more elegant and feline. He glanced at the gold necklace that his Mr. Graves had bought him. He had thrown out the symbol that Grindelwald had given him long ago, tossed into a fire to melt into a puddle of metal. The necklace that Mr. Graves had casually gifted to him was gold, oval shaped, and with a small, smoothly polished and unfaceted ruby set into the surface of the pendant. On the back were the initials P.G. and Credence shivered as he let the letters rest against his sternum over the silk of his dress.

He felt delicate and lovely and as he should be, looking at himself in the mirror, dressed in the things his father had bought him, had given him. There were things still out of place, the lingering presence of Mary Lou and Grindelwald making him feel inadequate. But as he looked at himself and thought of how Mr. Graves’ eyes darkened and his lips curled in pleasure whenever he saw Credence in silk, he couldn’t help but shiver. 

Grindelwald had never looked at him like that, had never looked at Credence with desire and need and desperate starving hunger. Grindelwald had touched him only because he had to, cupping his face and jaw chastely, feeding him paltry bits of affection that Credence had been starved for. He had gone from the feast of Percival Graves’ enduring warmth, his touch, his protective caring, to the famine of Gellert Grindelwald’s miserly dues. Oh, but he had been willing to pretend, to glut himself on so little after having experienced so much, pretend that it had always been that way, that the man who wore Mr. Graves’ face (and oh hadn’t that been a strange revelation) was the same man who had eagerly fed and nurtured him, who had kissed his forehead, had cupped his cheeks and warmed his hands gently. He had been willing to pretend for the sake of his broken heart, to keep it from shattering apart in despair. 

Now, even with his name as Credence Graves he couldn’t help but hunger and delight in the unchaste touches of his father. The way Mr. Graves kissed him lingering and soft, held him close, ghosted his palms over Credence’s waist and sides and pulled him close until the boy could feel the man’s enduring heat even closer.

\--  
[something dark, either predator-stalk-slow or feverish, reflecting possessiveness, also possibly a touch of hope at the end]

“Look at you.” Percival smiled as he sat behind his desk, his eyes eagerly tracing over Credence’s slim frame, dressed in his pretty clothing, the boy standing before him. “Such a pretty girl.” He murmured, holding out his hand as he stood, stepping around his desk. Credence folded easily into his embrace, Percival’s hand resting on the boy’s lower back as the other collected the frail, bird-bone slenderness of Credence’s wrist, lifting his fingers up for a kiss upon the delicate tips. 

Credence flushed but didn’t protest, staring down at his father’s chest and pressing closer, his face tilting down to press to Percival’s neck, the boy inhaling the scent shakily. “Y-yes, Daddy.”

“You need a name.” The man murmured, pulling back slightly to look over the boy. “Something softer...” Something close enough, familiar enough that Credence wouldn’t balk at it. He was no Esme or Antigone, names which would be too foreign, too wizardly for a boy who had insisted he still be called Credence. After a long pause the man smirked and leaned forward to plant a soft kiss to Credence’s lips. “Obedience... My darling Obedience Graves.”

Credence shivered at the name, pressing closer to Percival and whispering, “Please... I like it.” The words tickling the man’s neck as he held his son close and gently stroked his palm over his back. 

They stood like that for quite a few minutes, Percival refusing to be the first to break the embrace. It was only when Credence relaxed, straightening slightly and stepping back, just so that he wasn’t pressed flush to his father, did Percival gently ease the boy to the door. “Come along, Obedience, it’s time for lunch.”

Walking through the streets of New York as Obedience was a new experience for the boy and it was obvious that he was indulging himself as Obedience in ways he never would have as Credence. When Percival wrapped his arm about Credence’s waist, the boy now curled closer, resting his head on the man’s broad shoulder, making him seem smaller, more demure, despite towering a good two inches over Percival’s own head. When they arrived at Dorsia, Credence shrank slightly, but didn’t say anything, simply pressing closer to his father’s side as Percival gave the maitre’d his name. 

They were led to a window seat, Percival’s back to a wall and his eyes fixed on the door for a few moments before they fixed upon Credence, who was being spoken to by the waiter, the young man smiling and asking a shy, quiet Credence what he would like to drink.

“Lemonade for my daughter,” Percival stated simply, with no room for argument. “And a coffee for me.”

The waiter met the older man’s eyes and instantly the young man was stepping back from the table, keeping a respectful distance and nodding. “Yes, sir. Right away.”

Credence’s shoulders slumped in relief as they were left alone, the other diners allowing them an island of privacy, too wrapped up in their own lives and conversations to pay the two much mind.

“You look lovely, sweetling.” Percival whispered, smiling at the boy. “Did you like your gift?”

“Yes.” Credence whispered, flushing as he fiddled with his pendant. “I like all the gifts you give me, Daddy.”

“Good, good.” The man smiled, leaning back. “You know I would give you anything. Anything your heart desired. You only need ask me for it.”

Credence’s eyes snapped up for a moment before he was looking away, “You give me too much already.” 

“It is not nearly enough.” The man reached out, tracing his fingers over Credence’s glass-cut jaw, gentle and loving and tender. “Simply name what you would most desire and I will give it to you. Whatever it is, money's no object, I will move the stars for you to be given the impossible.”

Credence shivered, looking at the man before he whispered softly. “I want to... To feel like myself... I don’t... I don’t like...” His fingers pressed to his lap and he sighed, frowning as he tried to find the words. “I’m Credence. I’m a boy. But I also want to be Obedience. I want to be both... I want to be both for you. Son and daughter.” 

“You can be.” Graves whispered before he could stop himself. “If you’d like. There’s medical treatments for that, spells and potion combinations... It would be painful, irreversible, but if that was what you wanted then I would give it to you.”

The boy stared at him as if he had given him the secret to eternal life.

“What else do you want, sweet Obedience?” The man asked, gently stroking his fingers over Credence’s hair where it curved and clung to his cheek. “Anything you ask, I will give it to you.”

Dark eyes searched his face before Credence flushed,whispering softly. “I... I want a baby.”

The older man gave a dark smile as he leaned in to kiss his son’s forehead. “Whatever my darling lamb wants.”

\--  
(Book I: Prelude and Fugue No. 1 in C Major - Bach) [Richer’s version is personally the best for this scene - just the right mix of soft and bright. Other versions don’t use pedals/sustains and don’t sound dreamy enough]

Healer Saperstein sat in the Graves home with several pamphlets and his board clip, his fountain pen charmed to take relevant notes and poised at the ready as the man wound down on his explanation.

“The potion regimen takes about a week and is by and large the most uncomfortable part of the entire process. We are basically carving a hole between the anus and the base of the penis and temporarily healing it, the potion regimen will then do the rest, altering and rearranging tissues and providing the remaining hormones needed for the body to be capable of child bearing.”

Credence was staring at the moving pictures in slight trepidation, his hand resting upon his stomach and rubbing lightly as his eyes fixed on the moving picture of a boy transforming slowly into a girl, still slender and lean but obviously female. Percival smiled as he gently soothed his fingers over the back of Credence’s neck, sitting beside the boy as Healer Saperstein sat across from them in the chair Percival usually occupied.

“And what about Credence’s other potions? Will we have to stop those for the time being.”

“Dreamless sleep will have no effect, but he will need to take a hormone supplement for about a month before the procedure.”

“Credence also expressed an interest in removing his scars, would you recommend this before or after the transition?”

“I would recommend before as it’s a much simpler procedure, a baby step in the right direction.”

Credence seemed content to ignore them and let Percival take charge of the planning, flipping through pamphlets and rubbing his stomach, touching his chest, and occasionally hovering his hand over his lap, hesitant and shy but still curious as to the full extent of the changes that would take place.

“Alright, that about covers it.” Credence glanced up as Saperstein stood, the Healer smiling at the two of them gently. “I’ll have your month’s worth of hormones delivered along with instructions as to when to take them. If you have any questions you know to call me.”

“Thank you, Healer Saperstein.” Percival stood, leading the Healer to the door and smiling as he confirmed Credence’s appointment for next week for the scar removal.

\--  
(Gnossienne: No. 3 - Satie)  
(Gnossienne: No. 1 - Satie) [hmmm]  
(Préludes pour un chien: sévère réprimande - Satie)

 

The first time Percival had witnessed the changes taking place in Credence’s body due to the hormone cocktail Saperstein had given him was one afternoon when he decided to come home from work early in order to take Credence out to a nice dinner.

The boy was standing completely naked in front of the mirror in his bedroom, feeling over the softened curves of his body, over the fuller set of his thighs and hips, before his hand moved over the smooth line of his stomach. Percival’s eyes followed those delicate hands when Credence’s fingers moved to cup the soft, slightly swelling curve of his chest, kneading and sighing as he pressed against the tender, aching flesh that had developed.

Percival leaned against the door, trying to hold back a needful groan at the sight of Credence’s nipples peeking through between his fingers before the boy smoothed his palms over the curve, holding the neat, delicate little handfuls before letting his palms drop.

“You look delicious.” The man called, voice low and eager as he stared at the boy, causing Credence to jump and turn, shivering as he slid a hand to cover his flaccid cock. “Every inch of you.” Percival’s eyes flickered pointedly to the boy’s cock.

The boy flushed and Credence shuffled backwards, perching on the edge of his bed shyly. “It doesn’t look right.” He murmured, glancing up at Percival.

“I think your cock looks perfectly fine.” Percival stepped forward, carefully peering down at the boy, brushing his hand away and staring at every gloriously naked inch of his son. He stared at Credence, who stared back, breath held and legs carefully spreading, inviting, as those feline eyes tracked every movement the man made. Long, strong fingers, flesh and bone and warm, rubbed over the tight sack, and then over the boy’s limp cock, thumbing at the sweet pink of the head for a moment if only to feel the boy twitch and jerk against his touch. 

“D-daddy-” The boy gasped, collapsing back onto the bed, thighs trembling and clamping shut as Percival gave him a slow, dry stroke, feeling the boy twitch in his palm so eagerly.

“You’re perfect.” The man stated simply, kneeling in front of the bed, wrapping his lips around the pink tip peeking out from his loose fist. “With your perfect mouthful of a cock.”

“Please don’t call it that.” Credence gasped, shivering as he grabbed at the bedding beside his head. Percival smirked as he swirled his tongue lazily. “Please-”

“What should I call it? Your erection? Your penis? Your prick?” He smirked, rubbing his damp lips over the flushing flesh, tasting the thin, clear precum leaking from the boy in fat droplets. “Your clit? Is that what it is, Obedience?” A moan that Credence couldn’t contain and Percival smirked, giving another slow stroke as a reward. “You want your Daddy to tell you how much he likes sucking on your pretty little clit?”

Credence shivered and arched and Percival couldn’t help but give a few more eager sucks to the tender, oh-so-sensitive flesh, smirking when thick white come dribbled out of the boy and over his fist. Percival watched the boy’s come drip along his fingers as Credence gasped and twitched with oversensitivity, his thighs trying to press together to shield him from the man’s touch. When Percival finally did release the twitching, spent cock, he couldn’t help but rub his knuckles along the seam of the boy’s sack, toying with him and making the slender frame twitch and arch into his touches again.

The older man groaned, leaning forward, feeling Credence’s fluids smearing over the front of his slacks as he laid his body atop his son, staring into dazed, unfocused eyes that were crossed sweetly as Credence’s hips twitched to ride out the remaining aftershocks. “My sweet boy... With your delectable little clit and your perfect tits.” 

“Daddy...” Credence whined. “Don’t say things like that, Daddy.”

“Why not?”

“It’s embarrassing.” 

“But it’s the truth.” Percival murmured. “Absolutely perfect.” He leaned forward and Credence gasped, pressing his hand to his father’s head to try and shove him weakly away. “Obedience-”

“I don’t want to come again.” The boy whined, pressing his face against the bed. “I don’t like making messes.”

Percival dragged his mouth over the boy’s trembling stomach. “Daddy wants you to come again.”

“I don’t want to make a mess.” Credence whimpered, and Percival paused to imagine what the boy must be thinking of. He could imagine the boy repressing everything and it still never being enough. Lurid fantasies slithering into his dreams, causing him to wake with sweat soaked and come sticky sheets. He could imagine that some of those harsh beatings must have come from that mess.

Percival gentled a little at that, smiling softly and cupping his palm over Credence’s erection, slow and careful as he kneaded and thumbed at the hard flesh. “Then I’ll make sure you don’t, sweetling.” 

Credence whimpered, staring down at his father before nodding, relaxing his legs and letting Percival closer, letting the man tuck his head against a soft thigh in order to lick and taste and suck at delicate, tender flesh until Credence was twitching and leaking once more. A particularly harsh suck at the sensitive head made the boy double over, his fingers tangling in Percival’s hair.

“Feel your chest, Obedience.” The man growled and Credence trembled, his hands releasing black hair only to shyly cover Credence’s chest, the boy shivering and moaning at the touch given to tender, sensitive flesh. “Such pretty, perfect little tits you’re getting.” Percival lapped along the crease of thigh and hip, watching the clean, delicate arch of Credence’s spine as slim, pale thighs trembled. Unable to resist any longer, Percival reached up with a hand to knead at the soft, barely noticeable swell of flesh, Credence’s hand grasping at his wrist as the boy gasped and whimpered and shook even more against the assault to his overly-sensitive body. 

“Daddy - Daddy, please, I don’t want to come.” Credence sobbed, desperately trying to press his thighs together, Percival turning his head to bite softly at tender flesh. “You can come, Daddy, you can come on me, you can-can-can f-f-f-fuck my thighs, m-my tits-”

“Come for me, Obedience.” Percival barked, his hand giving a firm stroke over the flushed, twitching length of his son. “Mind me, Obedience. Mind your Daddy and come.”

Credence arched his spine, gasping and shaking as if on cue, Percival quickly ducking down to suck roughly on the sensitive tip of his son’s cock, swallowing when the first splash of hot, salty fluid hit his tongue. Weak, high-pitched moans, fragile and trembling as bird bones, Credence arching his spine, shying away from the man’s touch as Percival swirled his tongue around the too-sensitive head. 

“Daddy, please stop.”

Percival pulled off with the most obscene, wet pop he had ever heard, slurping softly at the wet head for a moment before he sat up, crawling over the smaller frame and pressing his elbows to the bedding on either side of Credence’s head, watching the boy’s crossed eyes swim and swirl back into focus.

“Oh, babydoll, don’t you look perfect... Don’t you look swell.” The man nuzzled his lips against Credence’s throat, gently nipping and sucking at the soft skin as the boy wrapped his arm around Percival’s shoulders, fingers digging into the meat of his shoulder. 

“You’re still... So... So...” Credence’s thighs twitched at either side of Percival’s waist and the man smirked. 

“Don’t you worry about that, Obedience.” Percival kissed Credence’s neck gently, following as Credence tilted his head and nibbled at the curve of his jaw, the shell of his ear. “Just let Daddy take care of you.”

\--

Queenie stopped hiding her pregnancy in March 1927. Few people had noticed beforehand, but Percival had and he knew. How could he not know? But still, people were surprised when Queenie Goldstein, the belle of the ball, showed up one day glowing more than usual, with a bump on her abdomen and a large bow as if her swollen, pregnant stomach was the most precious gift in the world. 

Percival knew who the father was, even if half of MACUSA speculated and gambled and gossipped. 

“Miss Goldstein.” Percival murmured, not even looking up when she placed the cup of coffee on his table. Her fingers were still graceful and soft and he watched as they released the saucer, placing her hand gently on her bump, rubbing the curve of it protectively. He thought of Credence, of the boy’s mother, alienated by No Maj society, dead, her son - his son - on the streets, in the clutches of that horrible Barebone woman. Thought of Jacob Kowalski, already obliviated once in a cleansing rain. “If you need anything. Anything at all, you come to me, understand? You come to me, not anyone else. Not Abernathy, not your sister, not the goddamn President of the Magical United States.”

Queenie was looking at him and he could feel her brushing against the walls of his mind, trying to find a crack, to glean what he was thinking. He inched them open gently, thinking of Credence’s mother, beautiful and delicate, of Credence in the streets, and then Credence hunched and handing out flyers, Credence as a terrible storm of rage and pain and horror. He thought of Jacob, kind and soft-faced and gentle and everything Queenie needed, everything she deserved. Thought of their children and how they’d be hurt by both societies.

“You’re a good man, Mister Graves.” The woman smiled blindingly down at him as his walls gently pushed her out, closing up again. “Don’t ever let anyone say otherwise.”

“Nonsense, Miss Goldstein. Or is it Mrs. Kowalski now? Either way, I’m a bastard.” Percival lifted his cup of coffee to his lips, taking a sip before he looked up. “That’s how he managed to hide in my skin for so long.”

Queenie’s smile didn’t falter and she leaned over, giving him a chaste kiss on the cheek, cupping her bump with her hand to keep from knocking anything over on his desk. “You’re a good man. Never think otherwise.”

Percival nodded and watched as she turned, rebalancing herself before she smiled and gave a soft giggle. “Miss Goldstein... Would you mind if Credence spent tomorrow with you?”

“Oh! Not at all, Mr. Graves!” The woman laughed. “When he comes in for lunch you can let me know when you’re finished and I’ll take him on my afternoon rounds.” And with that she turned, left for her coffee cart, and was strutting back down the hallway to the next office.

A week later Percival came home to no Credence at the door for the first time in nearly six months. At first it had been because Credence, fearing that it wasn’t Percival at the door, would stand, waiting to defend himself. From what, he wasn’t sure. Perhaps Grindelwald, perhaps MACUSA, perhaps the dead Barebone woman come for revenge. Then it came to be a habit, to be greeted by the boy taking his coat and pressing a chaste kiss to his cheek. 

“Credence?” Percival called, going through the kitchen, the parlour, up the first flight of stairs to his rooms, then to the top floor, where Credence’s own rooms were located, panic gripping him tightly when he still heard nothing from his son.

Opening the door to Credence’s boudoir, the man felt his entire body shudder with relief, staring at the silhouette of the boy turned towards him, only after a moment taking in the details of the scene.

Credence, was sitting on the couch in his boudoir, holding a pillow to his chest and dressed in a soft, long dress, black and simple and still beautiful. The boy had red rimmed eyes and his head hung low as he kneaded and tugged at the fabric of the pillow in a nervous gesture, lifting his thumb to his mouth to bite and nibble at the nail every so often. 

“Obedience.” The man gently called and Credence flushed, looking at him shyly before seeming to curl up in himself even more. Percival sat down beside the slender figure, wrapping his arm tight around the boy’s waist, tugging him close to kiss his forehead gently. “What’s wrong, sweet thing?”

“I don’t know what... I was...” Credence placed a hand against his chest, breathing softly and tucking his face against the man’s neck. “I’m sorry.”

“What do you want, Obedience... Can you tell me?” The boy shivered and hid his face against Percival’s shoulder. 

“I... I just... Queenie... I’m...” The boy’s eyes looked up at Percival, the boy clenching his fingers in the man’s waistcoat. “I want...” Slender fingers slipped beneath the pillow in his lap, pressing his hand to his own stomach. “I don’t...”

“You have to tell Daddy.”

“Ma.... Mary Lou... She took in a baby one day.” Credence whispered, tears clinging to his lashes as he whispered something soft and quiet, like a confession, a plea for absolution. “It was so tiny, I think it was sick too... But the baby was... So beautiful... It died that winter, but I was the one to take care of it.” The boy tucked his face against Percival’s neck and he shuddered. “I wanted to be it’s mama... I was... I was so happy taking care of it. Even when it cried at night because it was sick or hungry. I was so happy and I loved it so much... Even though it died only a couple of months later... I want... Daddy, I want...” The words still struggled to press past Credence’s lips as the boy looked up at Graves. 

Percival’s eyes darkened and he felt that same dark and hungry thing in his stomach lift it’s head and purr at the thought of his Credence... Oh... How delicious.

“Can you tell me, Obedience? Can you tell me what you want?”

Credence’s fingers tightened and he shook his head, looking down at the pillow resting on his lap. “I can’t.. I don’t... I want - I want - I want-”

“Shhh...” Percival tugged his son close, pressing his lips to Credence’s cheek, to his jaw. “Do you want me to take the choice away? Do you want Daddy to choose for you?”

“Yes, yes, yes, please - please, Daddy.” Those soft brown eyes, feline and beautiful, peered up at Percival. “Tell me what to do, Daddy, please.”

Percival cupped Credence’s jaw gently, tilting his head until the boy tucked his face against Percival’s own, their foreheads touching gently. “You’re going to continue the Graves line, Obedience. When you’ve got your nice new parts we’re going to make you pregnant. Give you a nice full stomach, just like Queenie you know, and you’re going to have our baby. Would you like that, Obedience?”

A ragged sob escaped Credence, the boy nodding eagerly, as he clutched at Percival’s jacket and waistcoat, pressing his face to the man’s shoulder. “I want it.” He murmured, trembling. “I’m so... O-of her... I want that. I don’t - I don’t want to c-covet Queenie’s... I don’t want to feel envious of my friend.”

“There there, sweetling, no need to be jealous of Queenie.” Percival stroked Credence’s cheek, brushing away the frustrated tears and kissing the boy’s lips gently. “That will be you, soon enough.”

\--

Credence tried not to sigh in relief as his Daddy’s hands kneaded at his hips and back, trying to soothe the aching tension there. The surgery had gone well, as far as Credence knew, but the pain that had hit was still difficult to handle even a week later. He couldn’t walk very far and Mr. Graves had taken to carrying him around to each room and coming home for lunch rather than making the boy make the trip into MACUSA. 

Laying in Mr. Graves’ big bed as the man rummaged around in the next room, Credence couldn’t help but glance at the mirror every so often, lifting the soft silk of his night gown and nudging his flaccid cock underneath the silk to reveal his new cunt, still healing, still a raw, tender pink, but so very pretty, smooth and soft. What would Mary Lou say if she could see him now? Dressed in pale pink silk and bearing a gaping, hungry hole between his thighs? Certainly nothing good, and that made the boy shiver all the more, delight in this small rebellion all the more sweetly.

“Oh... Don’t you look perfect.”

Credence jumped, closing his legs and flushing as he looked up, seeing Mr. Graves standing in the doorway, the salve that Healer Saperstein had given him in hand along with the bottle of dreamless sleep he was to take. He was dressed for bed, in only his underwear, the heavy shape of his cock clear through the thin cotton shorts, his broad chest on display, Credence’s eyes fixing upon the expanse of it and the breadth of his shoulders.

“I’m sorry, Daddy.” The boy whispered, hidings his face in the pillow. “It’s just-”

“Shh.” Mr. Graves pressed his finger to his own lips. He administered the spoonful of dreamless sleep and kissed Credence’s lips gently before he slid into bed, laying behind Credence, cuddling up to the boy. “I know, I like looking at your pretty pink cunt too, Obedience.”

Credence shivered at the name and parted his legs, letting his father’s long, firm fingers slip between his thighs, tenderly massaging the cool, tingling salve against his outer lips and then over his cock, feeling the soft, velvety flesh before gathering more of the salve and slipping his middle finger inside the feverish warmth of his cunt. 

“Oooh...” Credence sighed in relief at the cool salve soothing the soreness and the tender pulsing of his walls, eyes drooping as he shivered and felt himself throbbing against Mr. Graves’ touch. His cock twitched against his thigh but didn’t harden like it normally would. Healer Saperstein had said that would be an issue, that he wouldn’t come like he used to, wouldn’t be “messy” and it would be more difficult to get hard, but Credence didn’t care about that, preferred it if he was honest.

“Such a perfect pink little cunt... And look at your little clit...” The man smiled, purring against Credence’s soft hair, nuzzling his jaw gently as his thumb rubbed the base of Credence’s cock, eyes fixed on the sight of Credence’s open cunt in the reflection of the mirror. “Such a pretty little girl I have.”

“Daddy...” Credence whimpered, hiding his face and gasping when Mr. Graves swirled his fingers over the flesh of his cunt once more before pulling his hand back. Credence couldn’t find it in himself to protest the name, the treatment, the way the man eagerly growled against his jaw and insistently used words to describe Credence that he had always shied away from even when they made him thrill somewhere deep in his gut. “Thank you, Daddy.”

“Mmm, you just look so pink and pretty, sweet girl.” Graves murmured, shifting his hips so that Credence could feel the hard line of his cock, the man’s hand reaching down to tug his underwear out of the way, letting Credence feel the hot flesh against the back of his thighs. “You just look so perfect.”

The wet, dripping head of his Daddy’s cock, thick and red, rubbed between Credence’s thighs, catching lightly on his lips, pressing hot and heavy against his own slim cock. Credence gasped, watching as Graves smeared some more of the salve along his own cock, thrusting slick and greasy between Credence’s thighs. 

“Oh!” Credence shivered, feeling an aborted thrum of pleasure-pain on his skin. He wanted more, wanted his Daddy to press closer, but the enduring soreness brought tears prickling to his eyes. “Daddy, Daddy, please!”

“Hmm? Too much, Obedience?” The man murmured, shushing and soothing as he stroked his wooden fingers through Credence’s hair, tilting his head until the boy bared his neck, letting Graves kiss and nuzzle at the tender skin. 

“Yes, too much. I want - I want, but I can’t... It’s too sore.”

“I know, baby.” Mr. Graves murmured, his hand grasping his cock, rubbing the fat head along the aching, gaping hole of Credence’s pussy, feeling the skin shudder and clench and twitch on instinct, even though he didn’t press in. “Such a hungry little cunt, but too sore to take anything, let alone daddy’s cock.” He rubbed the slick, throbbing head of his cock along Credence’s own clit, groaning softly at the feeling before he arched his hips back, dragging between Credence’s thighs before he released himself, parting the soft flesh of Credence’s ass to look at the boy’s holes, pink and twitching and eager. “So perfect...” He murmured, rubbing the tip of his cock along the tight furl of Credence’s ass, feeling the way the boy shivered and arched, entire body pliant and eager for Graves. “Do you want something, Obedience?”

“Daddy... Daddy, please...” Credence whimpered, burying his face in the pillow. “I want... I don’t know what I...”

“Do you want this?” Graves asked, pressing his head even tighter against Credence’s ass, feeling the boy’s body open beautifully even for that small pressure. 

Credence flushed, hiding even more and nodding. 

“Use your words, beg for what you want.”

“I don’t know how.” Credence whimpered, shivering and spreading his legs as he laid on the bed, his father maneuvering until he could straddle Credence’s thighs, rubbing and pressing his cock all along the messy, slick spaces between Credence’s legs. “It’s a sin.”

“Not a sin, sweet Obedience. It’s not a sin to want pleasure, to want to feel good.” Mr. Graves growled, his teeth pressing to Credence’s shoulder, his neck, sucking softly at the tender skin as Credence arched, panting and eager and wanting, thighs trembling with the effort to keep himself presented so beautifully for the taking. “Just the tip then.” Graves murmured, panting out a heavy breath as he rubbed a thumb against the tight ring of muscle before pulling just enough to get a glimpse of the hot, trembling pink of the boy’s insides. “There we go...” 

A slow.

Slow.

Slow press.

And then a pop of pressure and -

“Ah!” Credence trembled, his entire body clenching tightly before he slumped against the bed, ass still presented in the air and Graves’ hand still holding him upright. “Daddy! It’s too big, it’s too big-”

“Shhh, you’ve taken it so well.” Graves murmured, watching the way the stretched ring of muscle clenched and shuddered around his cock head rhythmically, groaning as he stroked over the aching, burning length of himself as Credence relaxed. “Do you like that?”

“I...” Credence bit his lower lip and Graves could see the way his eyes stared into the distance, the way the boy’s hips shifted slightly, back and forth, feeling the fullness and never dislodging the heavy tip even though he could easily pull away completely. “Is... Is this sodomy?”

“Yes, my sweet little girl.” Graves murmured, kissing at Credence’s shoulder. “Do you want Daddy to pull out?”

A long moment of internal debate before Credence shook his head, trembling. 

“Do you want Daddy to just stay like this? Or do you want more?”

“If... If you give me more... Would... Would I not be a virgin for my wedding night?”

Graves felt something ugly and jealous writhe in his chest but quickly stamped it down. “No, sweetling, your sweet cunt would still be untouched. You’d still be a virgin.” A tender little lie, but Credence didn’t need to know that.

“Can you... I want more, but don’t... Don’t move.” Credence whispered, shivering as he pressed back slightly. “I just... I like the... I like feeling full.”

“Of course, Obedience.”

Graves bit back a groan, sinking deeper and deeper until he was seated fully, his sack pressing flush against the dripping wetness of Credence’s warm pussy, the smaller frame tensing, clenching and trembling for a few moments before he relaxed, Credence sighing against his pillow as Graves wrapped his arm around him, hard wooden fingers slipping between Credence’s thighs to press lightly to the boy’s entrance, rubbing at the salve still glistening there. 

“O-oh... Daddy, I feel... Oh, I feel so full...” Credence whispered, eyes crossing slightly as he rocked his hips slightly, shuddering little breaths escaping him before the boy relaxed fully into the bed. 

Graves groaned into Credence’s shoulder, kissing his neck and jaw before whispering. “Sleep, Credence, sleep now.”

The boy nodded and in moments had fallen asleep, still spread wide and filled completely with Graves’ cock. Sunk deep inside Credence, Graves groaned as he felt himself throb and ache and burn for his sweet boy, pressing his lips to Credence’s shoulder before he started to thrust in small, shallow movements, feeling himself shiver and ache even more until he finally - too soon and yet not soon enough - came inside his sweet boy, stilling and keeping himself fully seated inside so as not to make a mess of the bedding or themselves. 

“Oh sweet little thing... How I want to devour you whole.” He murmured into Credence’s hair, kissing at his temple before drifting off into his own rest.

\--

The Wampus Lodge was the sort of place that Mary Lou had once pointed to and declared to be a temple of sin just as bad as any whorehouse or speakeasy. 

“Nothing but men wallowing in their own wealth and filth, heedless of the good work their influence could do for the world.”

Perhaps she had simply been upset that that influence was never spent on her or her own good, but Obedience couldn’t help but still feel slightly nervous about going with Mr. Graves to the Wampus Lodge. Stepping inside she couldn’t help but cast her gaze around, the foyer nothing but polished wood, the sliding wooden doors separating the various parlours. There was a library and reading parlour, a game room across the way, and a few other parlour where it seemed to be clear that you could have conversation freely there (as well as alcohol if the number of men with glasses in their hands was any indication). 

There was a sort of.... Commonality amongst them. They all seemed to carry a similar air to Mr. Graves, something severe and frightening, something that mimicked a beast, one with too many teeth, irregardless of physical appearance.

“Wampus favours warriors, Obedience.” The man smiled gently, stroking his fingers through the soft, stray curl along the girl’s cheekbone. “You are, quite certainly, like a bowl of cream in a room full of very hungry cats.” The heavy weight of his palm curving down Obedience’s waist, her hip, resting lightly on her thigh before moving away, made the girl shiver. “I would love nothing more than for them to know that I’m the only one allowed to lick you up, but we need to find a husband for you, don’t we?”

Obedience flushed, staring down at her feet, at the delicate black shoes she wore, smoothing her fingers over the simple black dress she had picked out for the outing. “Tell me again, Daddy.” The girl whispered, looking up at Graves with dark, feline eyes. “I need... I need to hear it.”

Graves smirked as he led Obedience into the reading lounge, selecting a collection of Poe from the shelf and settling onto the couch there. Obedience was seated on his lap, despite there being plenty of room for the girl to sit beside Graves. The man opened the book, holding it poised with one hand while the other tugged Obedience’s head to rest on his shoulder, the girl’s nose pressed to Mr. Graves’ pulse point. 

“We’re going to come here every week if necessary and find you a husband. And we’re going to get you married, and then you’ll be able to have our baby.”

Obedience nodded rapturously at the words, rubbing her fingers over Graves’ chest briefly before whispering, trembling and worried. “What if he wants to take me away, though? I don’t want to leave you, Daddy...”

“You’ll never leave me, my sweet girl.” The man let his fingers linger over the soft curve of the girl’s spine. “I won’t allow it. Not even the President herself or Grindelwald could take you from me, how could any simple man do the trick?”

Obedience flushed, biting her full lips, spelled so that the thick red lipstick that she had carefully painted on them didn’t smudge (courtesy of her ever attentive Daddy), and leaning into her father’s shoulder, letting her slender frame be supported by the man. 

“Now. I do think you have the attention of the entire room.” The man kissed Obedience’s temple and whispered. “Go make me a drink, Obedience.” And oh, the thrill she got from hearing the name growled, low and demanding against her temple, was surely a sin, but she surely couldn’t care. 

When she stood she felt eyes drawn to her, fixed upon the modest hem of her skirt (below her knees and unadorned), on the curve of her once far-too-bony hips (softened slightly with healthy diet) and the delicate, barely there swell of her chest beneath the high collar of her shirt (Graves had kneaded his broad hands over her chest as she had dressed earlier, growling in her ear about how much his sweet girl had developed, how nicely Obedience’s tits had filled out and Credence had thrilled so much more at that he ached with it).

Now she was on display for people other than Graves, showing off what she had to offer. When she returned with a drink she slid into Mr. Graves’ lap as the man talked with another member seated beside him, the girl tucking herself close even as Graves’ hand rested on her thigh and teased and lightly tugged at the fabric of her skirt. 

“Such a sweet child, but certainly not a Wampus.” The man with Graves was commenting. 

“Hardly.” Graves laughed, tugging Obedience closer. “Far too gentle for that.”

“Well then, girl, what house would you be in if you’d gone to Ilvermorny?” The other man, wizard, smiled indulgently, his eyes sharp as they traced the lines and angles of Obedience’s face, the shy cast of her lashes on her flushing cheeks as the girl thought over the question.

“Pukwudgie.” Obedience flushed even as she honestly answered the question. She had read numerous books about it despite the fact that she would never be sorted, never be fought over or claimed by the statues. 

“Ah, so studying to be a healer it is?”

“A housewife.” Obedience flushed. “Just a plain housewife. I don’t have any magic to use in healing.”

Graves caught the hitch in her voice at the tail end of the sentence, gently soothing his palms over Obedience’s cheeks. “Don’t you fret, honey lamb, you’re going to be the most perfect little housewife, won’t you? With or without magic.”

Obedience nodded, pressing her face to Graves’ hand fervently, all but forgetting about the man watching the two of them. “I just want to be good, Daddy.”

The man’s gaze was positively ravenous now, the other member looking as if he was about to reach out and snatch Obedience up for himself. “Oh really, sweet child? Is that why you’re here?”

Obedience flushed and nodded, smoothing her fingers over the skirt she wore, flushing softly. “I want a family... I like children and I want... I want a family of my own. A big one. And Daddy says I need a husband for that.” 

“Of course.” Graves smiled, kissing the girl’s jaw. “No child of mine will be having children out of wedlock. A man who walks out on his children or takes advantage of their mother is shameful.”

Obedience’s eyes were so soft and round, watery with something vulnerable and terrified, of a past not too far behind her still. “I wouldn’t, Daddy. I wouldn’t do that. I want to be good for you.”

“And you are. So very good and sweet.” Graves kissed the girl’s cheek gently, stroking his fingers over her hair gently before gently coaxing the girl’s soft head to his shoulder. “Now you put that out of your mind and let Daddy read for a bit.”

Obedience nodded, sitting on her father’s lap easily, tucking close and letting her own eyes linger on the pages of the book, reading along with her father. 

They were halfway through The Fall of the House of Usher when a sharp, tearing pain radiated up from between the girl’s thighs, her head falling forward slightly as she trembled and tried to stand, wobbly and uncertain in her pain. 

“Daddy,” She whimpered, looking at the man, trying not to draw attention as Graves lifted her easily, standing her upright and rising to look down at her. 

“What’s wrong, sweetness?” Mr. Graves frowned, stroking over her cheek. Obedience glanced around, flushing at the sight of all the other men, avidly watching her with their own greedy eyes. She shook her head, wide eyes looking up at her father. “Come along.” The man ordered, quickly leading his daughter through the hallways to the lavish private bathroom on the first floor. 

Obedience was quickly lifted onto the sink and she shivered, flinching when her skirts were pushed up to her waist, revealing a small smear of blood on her inner thigh. 

“Oh, baby girl,” The man frowned, concentrating on the jar of salve in his bathroom, resting innocuously on the counter. It appeared in his palm, solid and real, and Obedience whimpered with relief as she spread her legs and let her father begin to rub some of the thick substance between her lips, pressing to the tender rim. “You should have said something, Obedience.” The man’s voice was stern and low. “I don’t want you hurting yourself.”

“Daddy, it’s okay-”

Hard wooden fingers grasped Obedience’s chin, holding her gaze as she looked at Mr. Graves shyly. “Obedience. Daddy is here to take care of you. That is what is most important, more than anything.” The man gently dipped a finger inside Obedience, the girl shivering and weakly clenching around the digit, her cunt feeling cool and pleasantly numb after the sharp pain of before.

“I’m sorry, Daddy.” Obedience sniffled, pressing her face to Graves’ collar, tugging him closer as he removed his finger and rubbed against her lips and the curves of her entrance, gentle and soothing before pulling back. 

“If you ever need Daddy to stop the pain you don’t hesitate to tell me.”

“I will, Daddy, I promise.”

“I won’t have my precious girl hurting. Not when I can prevent it, understood?”

Obedience shivered and nodded, remembering dark, dank alleyways and the man’s firm hands rubbing gently over her palms, healing thick red lines of scabs and banishing the aching pain, a miracle and a mercy if ever she had felt one. As those thick fingers pulled away from between her thighs she couldn’t help but lift his hand to her lips, kissing at his fingertips and sucking gently, ignoring the thick, medicinal taste of the salve, savouring the heady, metallic flavour of her blood and nuzzling easily against Mr. Graves’ palm.

“Oh, sweet girl... You know Daddy loves you. Daddy loves you so much.”

“I love you too, Daddy.” Obedience whimpered, lashes fluttering as she looked up at him. “I’m sorry.”

“Just don’t do it again. If you need something you ask Daddy.”

\--  
Dinner scene: (Hungarian Dance No. 5 in G minor - Brahms)

Tom Buchanan was the sort of man No Maj’s looked up to and Wizards despised.

He was a short, ferret-like man, with a long, pointed nose and close-set blue eyes. His hair was already thinning and blonde, and he wore his snide, condescending nature easily on his face. Despite all this he was a moderately successful broker on Wall Street playing the No Maj stocks. He had majored in Divination and Arithmancy in Ilvermorny, which had given him something of an edge over his No Maj competitors. His voice was a reedy whine on a good day, and on others a nasally drone. 

He had not been placed in Wampus, was instead in Horned Serpent during Ilvermorny albiet to the reluctance of the rest of the school. He had feeble magic and rather dull aspirations as a wizard and so had chosen to disguise himself as a No Maj. 

It had been his father, Bartholomew Buchanan, who had come to Graves with the suggestion of their two children meeting. 

“Now I know Tom is quite a bit older than Obedience, but I do believe he would treat the girl handsomely.”

Now, Tom and Batholomew stood in the foyer of the brownstone Graves lived in, watching as the Director of Magical Security for the United States as a whole stood and gestured for them to follow him up the stairs. 

“Obedience is reading in her boudoir, you may meet her there.”

On the third floor of the house the hallway was furnished with photographs, paintings, certificates, clippings, awards, all bearing Percival Graves’ visage and nothing but lauded praises for the man. 

“Quite a number of awards you have, Director Graves.” Bartholomew commented, eyeing a particular shadowed frame bearing numerous medals and awards for Graves’ service in the military during the Great War. 

“The room used to house my trophies.” Graves smirked over his shoulder at the two Buchanans as he turned the knob of the simple door. “This is my greatest.”

The boudoir was filled with books. There was a small writing desk, and several soft, delicate looking lounges. A round day bed occupied the enormous bay window, curtains currently pulled back to reveal the slender figure lying upon the surface, book in hand, dressed in nothing but a thin white gown and an equally fragile silk robe, the black silk dripping with black and soft pink fringe. 

“Obedience.” Graves called, stepping close as the slender figure stood, Obedience walked easily forward into the man’s embrace, delicate hands wrapping around Graves’ torso to press at the man’s back gently, nuzzling into the man’s neck softly. “This is Mr. Tom Buchanan.” Graves turned to allow Obedience the glimpse of the two men, her eyes fixing upon the younger Buchanan with an uncertain look, shyly hiding behind Graves’ shoulder and ducking her head to press to his neck. 

“Aren’t you going to say hello?” Tom asked, his thin lips pulling into a sharp smile. 

“Hello, Mr. Buchanan.”

A flat, velvet-covered box is presented to Obedience in reward, the girl reaching out to collect it in her long fingers, looking to Graves for direction. When the man held out his hand to Obedience she handed it over quickly, as if the box contained a live rattlesnake, letting the older man open the box with a decided click. Inside was the most gaudy pair of emerald earrings she had ever laid eyes upon, enormous and rectangular and set in a large gold, art-deco style setting. 

“You should really say thank you.” Tom pointed out, smiling down at the girl, who nodded and whispered a soft thank you to the man. “Put them on.”

“No.” Graves stated simply, closing the box with a snap, causing the Buchanan men to jump in surprise at the brusqueness of the statement. “Obedience, be a good girl and go get dressed for dinner.”

“Yes, Daddy.” The girl leaned up to kiss Graves’ cheek, the man smiling as he kissed her cheek chastely in return.

Once the girl left the room, all three men watching as she left, Graves turned sharply to Tom, leveling the younger man with an inescapable glare. “Obedience isn’t used to wearing such things to dinner. There’s a very delicate routine we have here for her own health and you had best learn to accommodate it.”

“Why? She’s hardly a child anymore if she’s looking to marry, to have children.”

Graves’ lips pulled into a tight, cruel smile as he stared down at the man before him, stepping well into Tom’s space and forcing the other man to take a step back. “Obedience will always be my child, Tom. She will always be my baby girl and you,” his eyes swept over Tom’s entire person. “Will always be the bastard that thought he was good enough for her.”

Tom swallowed thickly, staring up at the man before he nodded, jumping when a heavy hand was clapped upon his shoulder. 

“Good, now let’s get a bit of a drink downstairs while Obedience gets herself ready.”

“Your daughter is very beautiful, Director Graves.” Bartholomew provided, smiling at the other man. “If I was a few years younger and unmarried I would definitely let my eyes linger a bit more. You can’t blame Tom for being a bit over-eager to please her.”

“Oh, I can.” Graves poured three glasses of whiskey, handing the other two to his guests as they sat in his study, the man turning a photograph on his desk around to show the Buchanans. It was Credence, smiling shyly, hesitantly, mouthing a question and then blinking and laughing silently in delight at the flash of the camera. His hair had still not grown out entirely at the time, it was more messy, flyaway, but the boy’s cheeks had at least filled out somewhat and he was dressed well. “Quite sweet, my Credence. My Obedience. Beautifully so.”

“That’s the obscurus that-”

“That Grindelwald imprisoned me to find, yes, it is.” Graves sipped his drink, watching the two men process this new information. “No more than a squib now, unfortunately. Removing the obscurus, shearing it from Credence, resulted in removing the magic as well.” Graves carefully swirled his glass before taking another pull of whiskey. “I think a lot about how a failed him, you know. Trapped in that hell with that woman. Mary-Lou had said his mother was a witch, but that’s not true, isn’t it, Bart?” Inky, sharp black eyes met Bartholomew’s gaze and the man did a quick double take, staring at the portrait again. 

“It was-”

“The same. I’d know those eyes anywhere.”

“Dyer’s Curse, man, Percival Graves... Father of a squib from that No-Maj girl you fucked.”

Tom glanced between the two older men in confusion, opening his mouth to say something, perhaps to ask for answers, when the door swung open to reveal Obedience. 

She was dressed now in a simple black dress, all straight lines and neat seams, white cuffs at her delicate wrists and a high white collar. She wore her necklace, the ruby dangling against her sternum, and the solid gold crucifix that Percival had purchased her when she had seen it in a shop window one day. Her heels were modest and only an inch or so tall, her long legs encased in black silk stockings as she shifted from foot to foot nervously. Her lips were painted bright red and her eyes lined gently in khol, her hair carefully combed and the ends near her cheeks curled gently to emphasize the cut of her bones.

“Pretty as a dream of heaven.” Graves murmured before he stood and walked over, offering his daughter his arm. “Come along, Bart, Tom. We mustn’t keep the lovely lady waiting.”

Whatever misgivings either of the Buchanan men had about Obedience, Credence, or the Obscurial, they cast them quickly aside as they all went to the doorstep. They spent some brief time walking down the street into an alley before apparating to the restaurant, Graves with his arm still tight about Obedience’s waist as they went.

“Oh, Daddy,” Obedience looked up at Graves as they were led into Dorsia, the man shushing her gently even as the maitre’d greeted Graves by name and took “Miss Obedience’s” coat. “You didn’t need to take us here, I thought you said this was for special treats.”

“I’ve decided to treat my sweet girl, who is always special.” Graves smiled indulgently, kissing Obedience’s lips gently as she pressed her face to his cheek. “Now let us get to our table so I can spoil you properly.”

Dorsia was lavishly decorated, the main dining area painted a deep red with stark silver framed windows, the tablecloths clean white and the ceiling criss-crossing with bands of gleaming polished silver forming the sleek Art Deco style that had taken hold of the entire city. Their table was near the back, not the best of views, but Graves was careful to bracket Obedience into the furthest back corner so that he could seat himself in such a way that he could be an obstacle for any who tried to get in their way, his weathered eyes watching the doors and entrances carefully as they settled. Graves ordered for himself and Obedience, barely glancing at the menu and ordering lamb for Obedience and a steak for himself along with soup and some tender asparagus. When the food was actually brought out Graves carefully handed Obedience the light tomato soup before he began cutting the lamb on the girl’s plate for her, as well as the asparagus, stroking his fingers over her cheek when she turned to thank him gently.

Tom watched in avid, avaricious, fascination as the girl ate in dainty bites, rarely contributing to the conversation, remaining silent except for when she’d gently tug on her father’s sleeve to whisper something to him. She was almost doll-like in that regard, her soft, feline-eyes observing the world around her, rarely blinking, her painted mouth softly whispering to only Graves as the man made it clear that she was the center of his world. 

“And Obedience is capable of bearing biological children?” Bartholomew asked as they continued to discuss any possible future for their two children, who seemed content to simply observe each other silently and eat their meals as their fathers talked.

“Of course.” Graves turned to smile at Obedience, taking her chin in his fingers and turning her face up to his. “Healer Saperstein has assured us that within three months from now she’ll be perfectly fertile and capable of bearing healthy children.”

Obedience lit up at that, her eyes brightening and a smile coming to her face as she rubbed her hand over the flat expanse of her stomach, as if imagining a small, dependent life already growing there. 

“Obedience, what do you do with your days?”

Those soft, feline eyes looked up at Graves and the man reached down to rub her leg gently under the table. “Obedience has a rather strict schedule. She gets so easily overwhelmed with making decisionsand relies on me to tell her what to do with her day.” The man reached up to stroke the girl’s cheek with the back of his hand. “She wakes at eight in the morning and prepares herself for the day. She then comes to my work during lunch via the Floo and while we have lunch I give her her tasks for the day. Some days this involves housework, other days her task is to enjoy herself, and still others she spends with one of my employees taking the teacart through MACUSA.”

Tom nodded, looking mildly annoyed now. “Have you had any suitors in the past, Obedience?”

“She has not.” A scowl crossed Graves’ severe features. “No lovers either, so put that filthy thought from your mind.”

Tom scowled at Graves before looking to Obedience again. “Do you like your father speaking for you or is he doing it to be controlling?”

For the first time since the start of the dinner Obedience looked at Tom, her eyes shifting to Graves for a moment before she pouted softly at Tom. “I like it this way. Daddy always knows what to say more than me.”

And with that continued to take delicate bites of her meal, slowly but surely clearing her plate.

“And her time amongst No Maj’s hasn’t damaged her in any way?” Bartholomew put in, looking over Obedience with a more critical eye. 

“No more than it has damaged your child.” Graves pointed out, his hand moving to the back of Obedience’s neck, gently rubbing over her nape and letting the girl tilt her head back, leaning into the firm touch. “My Obedience is perfect. She’s nothing but gentle and kind and loving and people have done nothing but abuse that, Mr. Buchanan. I will not have anyone thinking they can just take advantage of her or that she is anything but something to be worshiped and adored.”

\--

“Daddy,” Percival looked up from his work as he sat in his private study, seeing Credence standing in the doorway, dressed in loose women’s slacks and blouse, looking at his father with a shy gaze. “It... It’s sore.” He whispered, stepping cautiously forward when Percival placed down his papers. 

“Come here, sweetling, let’s take care of you.”

Credence came to stand in front of the desk, laying back carefully when the man gently, insistently pressed at the boy’s stomach until he lay back on the hard surface.The man’s broad, heavy hands rubbed firmly at Credence’s sides and waist, gently digging the fingers of one hand into the meat of his hips, before he started to undo the clasps of Credence’s slacks carefully. 

“Daddy’s sweet angel has been so good about telling me when you’re sore.” The man all but purred against a soft thigh, one hand reaching out to use his fingers to spread the soft, vulnerable lips gently, showing off the still-angry looking soreness of the boy’s cunt. “I bet Tom wishes he could be the one soothing your sore little cunt.” He murmured, smirking as Credence shivered and whined, the boy’s thighs twitching when Percival snapped his fingers and summoned the jar of salve, the thick medicinal smell of it making Credence’s slender cock twitch out of pure instinct by now, the memory of throbbing, aching pleasure and relief of pain making his body react.

“I don’t like him, Daddy.” The boy whispered, pouting at his father as the man pressed closer, Credence’s thin fingers clutching at his loose, long women’s trousers slid barely down his hips as they stayed open for easy access by his father. “He’s an awful man. I don’t want to marry him.”

“Now, Credence.” The man rubbed his thumb over the taut flesh of Credence’s entrance, causing the boy’s soft thighs to twitch. “You’ll have to trust Daddy.”

“I do, Daddy.” Credence’s eyes widened and he grasped at Percival’s arm, the man smiling as he kissed Credence’s soft lips before they could continue to protest. “I just... Can’t it just be you and me? I don’t need babies, I don’t, I would rather not have them at all than have them with Tom.”

“And you won’t, Credence.” Percival murmured, kissing the boy’s forehead. “Tom won’t touch you, babydoll. He won’t lay a finger on your sweet little cunt.” His fingers gently plunged into the boy’s cunt, earning a shiver from Credence as he pressed closer to Percival’s chest. “That’s only for me, only for your Daddy.”

Credence’s eyes flickered down for a moment, lingering on Percival’s neck before the boy looked up again. “Daddy... What we do... It’s not right is it?” The boy whispered, pressing his fingers more firmly to his father’s chest. “No one... No one is allowed to know that I... That I love you?”

The man kissed Credence, stilling his fingers gently as he pressed their foreheads together. “Of course they can know you love me, Credence.”

“But...” Credence ducked his face, tucking close to Percival’s throat. “I can’t... I have to keep secret that I... I don’t want Tom. I don’t want the babies to be his. I want them to be yours...” Credence’s head shot up, nearly catching Percival in the chin as he looked at the man. “I’d love them all the same, Daddy. I would! But I... I wish I didn’t have to marry Tom. I wish it could be just the two of us... Only you and me... And that’s what... I can’t let people know... I have to keep it secret.”

Percival stroked his thumb over Credence’s lips gently, kissing him softly when the boy started to tremble with suppressed tears, his thumb pressing to the boy’s soft lips until Credence let his mouth hesitantly fall open and accept the digit. “You don’t worry about that, baby boy. I’ll take care of you. I promise. Tom won’t ever get to touch my most precious treasure. My sweet miracle.”

Credence’s eyes fluttered as he looked up at his father, a delicate, experimental suck being given to the man’s thumb. His cock twitched gently against his stomach, struggling to become erect despite Percival’s fingers rubbing and thrusting inside the boy’s obviously dampening cunt.

“There you go, sweetling.” The man kissed Credence’s nose softly. “Honey lamb.” Another soft kiss to his cheek. “Babydoll.” Percival pressed a long, lingering kiss to Credence’s throat, sucking a mark into the skin as he did so. “My wonderful, sweet little peach.”

Pale cheeks flushed darkly and Credence couldn’t help but let out an embarrassed whine around the man’s thumb, looking up at the man with long, fluttering lashes. Percival’s thumb began to move in the boy’s mouth, slow, languid thrusts of the digit, feeling over Credence’s tongue, coaxing the muscle to drag and swirl and play against his thumb. Two digits curled gently inside Credence’s now thoroughly-slicked hole, the boy’s cunt drooling upon the floor, splattering thick, clear slick, sweet but tainted with the sharp medicinal smell of the salve, upon Percival’s shiny black brogues. 

“Oh isn’t that nice...” Percival groaned, nipping at Credence’s full, red lips as the boy shivered and whimpered, clenching and fluttering around his father’s fingers. Percival could hardly wait for the day the boy would be healed and he could fully enjoy eating the boy’s dripping cunt, imagining the day he could taste the sweet ripeness of it and then sink his cock deep into the boy.

But that was for another day, for later. Percival could be patient.

Slowly pulling his fingers out, another dribble of clear fluid escaping the delicate pink lips, Percival couldn’t help but give a slow, gentle rub of his palm over the trembling, sensitive flesh before softly patting at the damp skin and making Credence gasp and press his knees together.

“Don’t worry, sweetling, Daddy will make sure that Tom never gets to see you like this.” Percival’s lips pressed to the boy’s lips gently. “This is only for Daddy.”

\--

Tom Buchanan married Credence Obedience Graves, the sole heir to the Graves line, with more pomp and circumstance than anyone could bat an eyelash to on a muggy, overcast June day in 1927. 

It was a small, private affair, witnessed by the Dowager Graves, an elderly woman silently, accusingly, watching the proceedings as her bastard grandchild was led down the altar by her only son, and by Bartholomew and Myrtle Buchanan who attempted to make small talk with the wealthy dowager through a good portion of the ceremony. The Madame President herself presided over the ceremony, and the Goldstein sisters sat on the sidelines, uncertainly watching the proceedings. 

A few more guests were added on for propriety, friends, acquaintances, influential people who would give their kidneys and five foot of intestine to be able to witness the marriage of the only child of Percival Graves.

“Daddy, please...” Obedience whimpered, sitting in the small room she had been locked away in until the ceremony, Queenie long gone to leave her alone to collect himself. Percival knelt beside the girl, stroking over her soft hands, kissing pale knuckles and whispering soothing nonsense. “I don’t want to marry him, he’s vile.”

“Obedience,” Percival firmly cupped Obedience’s chin, tilting her face until she looked into his eyes, tears clinging to her lashes. She looked so very beautiful, even with her teary eyes. Her lips done up in a soft pink, her cheeks blushed delicately. She wore the ruby necklace Percival had given her what felt so long ago, the long golden chain framed by the simple lace panels of her shawl. Her white dress was as simple as her other clothes, conservative, long sleeved and edged with delicate Belgian lace. “Obedience, do you trust me? Do you trust your Daddy?”

Obedience nodded, sniffling as she looked at him. Percival removed the simple, small diamond engagement ring from the girl’s finger, placing it aside and kissing her bare knuckle.

“Daddy will protect you, Obedience. I promise.”

“Director Graves.” Tina’s hesitant voice called through the door. “They’re ready.”

Percival stood, looking down at Obedience and helping her gently to her feet. “They’re waiting for you, honey lamb. Let’s not delay them any longer.”

Obedience looked up at him with such sorrowful eyes he might as well have been pulling a mourning veil over her face, the delicate lace shielding her teary eyes as she bowed her head, letting Percival wave his hand and summon a wedding bouquet for her, discarding the red roses that Tom had had sent to the room. 

Acacia blossoms, red carnations, orange mock, white roses and thorny holly leaves all bundled tightly with a dripping lace handkerchief to protect Obedience’s hands. She looked to her father, accepting the bouquet and wrapped her arm around Percival’s, holding tight as if she could protect herself from being swept away by some great tide by her grip.

The organ played the Ave Maria and Percival proudly led his daughter down the aisle, coaxing her to stand her full height, a full inch taller than him as her spine straightened. She didn’t meet any eyes, staring straight ahead, her imaginings a guillotine instead of an at the end of this proud walk so loud that she was quite certain everyone else could hear. Tom smiled that thin-lipped, self-satisfied smile as Obedience was gently, delicately handed to him, Percival not stepping aside, looming beside Obedience and staring down Tom as President Picquery began to recite the vows. 

“The ring?” She held out her hand far too soon for Obedience’s liking and while Tom reached into his suit jacket, fumbling, Percival smiled, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a simple velvet box, the same he had gotten from the vault what felt like a small lifetime ago. Inside was a ruby ring, almost as big as the one resting on the swell of Obedience’s chest, the girl’s breath hitching at the sight of it. There was a murmur from the attendees as Percival slid the ring onto Obedience’s hand, smiling down at his daughter as the Graves family ring easily rested upon her knuckle, Tom staring in shock before he hastily put his own ring on.

“I now pronounce you to be married, Mr. Buchanan, Mrs. Graves. You may kiss.”

Tom leaned in and Obedience lifted her veil just enough so that she could give her husband a brief, proprietary kiss upon the lips. 

When they were applauded and the Ghost snapped a shot of the kiss and the resulting distance that Obedience tried to impose between herself and Tom, Percival Graves couldn’t help but smirk as he allowed Obedience to shy into his own shoulder. 

Now for the real fun to begin.

\--

The broken, whimpering sobs echoing around the suite’s bathroom were quick to draw Percival to Obedience, the girl pressing her face to her knees as her father knelt beside her. 

“Obedience... Honey, what’s wrong?” A broad palm cupped the girl’s cheek, tilting her gaze, reddened by tears, to meet his own. 

“I-I’m married, Daddy.” The girl whimpered, sniffling and biting her lips as her jaw clenched and trembled. “I’m married to Tom!”

“Oh, babydoll.” Percival smiled as he tugged the girl to his chest, water splashing over the edge of the tub, soaking through his starch pressed shirt, "Didn't you see, sweetheart? She said Mrs. Graves, not Buchanan. You're all mine. I put your ring on, remember? It's Daddy's big ring on your finger there, no one else's. I'm your husband now, and you're my darling little wife.”

Obedience’s tearful eyes fixed on her father’s gaze, her cheeks flushed red from her crying. “I... I do remember...” Hope filled her eyes and Obedience leaned forward, pressing her slender frame close to her father’s warm embrace. “You’ve taken care of me, you paid for everything, you signed the contracts... So it’s only right that I’m yours.”

“That's right, baby. Daddy's got you now, bought and paid for, all signed away to me. Don't you believe me?” Obedience’s lashes fluttered as Percival gently kissed her lips, the man reaching down for the delicate lace veil discarded carelessly on the floor. It clung to her neck and shoulders, her thick black hair dampening the lace as well, making the veil transparent where it touched wet skin. “Let me put your veil back on, jog your memory. Shall we say our vows again? Tom doesn't mean anything, baby girl, he's disposable. I'll get rid of him soon enough don't you worry. I want my girl to be happy.”

Obedience’s eyes welled with tears as she nodded and hiccuped softly. “Please... I wanted to kiss you instead of Tom.”

Percival placed a firm kiss to her lips, her fingers grasping at his vest. 

“Obey and serve, honey. Honour me and stay by me forever, alright?” Percival licked softly at Obedience’s upper lip, biting softly at the tender flesh before he continued. “I'm never going to give you away, I'll kill whoever tries to take you from me, you know that don't you?”

“Yes, Daddy.” Obedience whimpered, letting her father chase droplets of water down her throat to her collarbone. 

"Tell Daddy who you belong to, precious." Percival’s voice was low, eerie and dangerous, Obedience trembling softly as she looked at him, knowing exactly what he wanted to hear, and knowing still that it wouldn’t be enough. It would never be enough, not when she knew that her marriage certificate bound her to Tom, not to her father, no matter how much she wished it to be different.

“I belong to you, Daddy, only you. We got married today too, didn't we? You put my ring on me and now I'm Mrs. Graves, yes?” She couldn’t keep the hope from her voice as she looked at him, her hand resting wetly upon his chest right over his pounding heart, the wet patch spreading and soaking into the man’s union suit.

“Mrs. Graves. All mine, only mine. I'll do whatever I like with you.” Percival tugged gently at the girl’s soft, short hair, smoothing it down before he cradled the base of her skull. “Spoil you rotten most likely, hmm? Daddy's precious favourite.”

Soft, feline eyes looked up at Percival, Obedience tugging at the man’s collar. “I’m your favourite still? Even though I married Tom?”

“Of course, sweet little one.” The man murmured, kissing at Obedience’s knuckles. “You're a new Graves treasure, aren't you? Daddy’s most precious possession.” Another soft whimper and the girl tucked her face against Percival’s throat firmly. “Daddy never told you this, Obedience, but your mother wasn't the only No-Maj I fucked without shame. Maybe Daddy has some other children? But I won't ever check, I don't even care, do you know why?” Because he was a bastard was not said out loud, he knew that his sweet child would never think such a thing of her father.

“Be-because I’m your favourite?” Obedience whispered, tucking even closer, desperately whispering into the man’s skin. “I’m your favourite, Daddy? Your only?”

“That's right, baby. And why would Daddy want or need anyone else? Any other illegitimate children I might have are of no interest or importance to me. Just my baby, my little Obedience, my sweet Credence. Haven't you made a terrible man of me? I bet you're so happy aren't you? Daddy's favourite, Daddy's only.”

Percival chuckled fondly as Obedience’s dark head ducked to tuck closer to his shoulder, the girl trembling with her emotions, her chest pushed flush against the rim of the tub as her father held her close, the cool porcelain doing little to quell the heat of guilt that raged through her veins at her own pleasure over the idea. She was such a greedy creature, desperately starved for her father’s attention and love. Mary Lou’s famine had been driven away by Percival’s feast and Obedience couldn’t help but crave and consume every bit of it.

Strong fingers gently kneaded at the back of Obedience’s neck, “Unless they were your sweet babies, darling. Our little ones. Daddy would love them as his own.” His voice was low and insidious against her skin, trembling up her spine as he whispered into her skin gently. “But do you know who would still be my favourite, honey? The one I love the most?”

“Me!” Obedience leaned up to nuzzle against Percival’s jaw, her arms pulling his shoulders to cling closer. “I have to be Daddy's favourite.”

“You have to be, don't you, little lamb? Just as much as Daddy has to be yours. It's going to be you and Daddy forever and ever. I'll give you everything you want and need, you don’t require anyone else.” Percival’s voice turned lower with each word, his lips brushing her ear as he pulled her until Obedience’s chest pressed flush to his own. 

He didn’t see the way Obedience’s eyes lingered on the line of his shoulders, thoughtful and quiet before she spoke up again, “Daddy..?”

“What is it, baby?”

“If you locked me away... If you kept me like a secret... Couldn't we - couldn't we have a baby? I wouldn't leave the rooms, not even the house, and no one would have to know!” Her voice lowered so much that Percival had to lean closer to hear her quiet plotting. “We could have a baby together. As long as they were healthy, and you could do that right?” He stared as those beautiful, dark eyes looked up at him so very hopefully, as if he was God and could do anything. Both of them knowing that he was slave to her whims all the same. “Then I wouldn't have Tom's baby. You know I would still love any of my babies! But I want them to be yours, Daddy.” 

Percival’s palm cupped her cheek, gently cradling the swooping bone and pressing their foreheads together, meeting her eyes firmly with his own inky gaze. “For how long we've loved one another, baby girl, what have I taught you?” 

Obedience frowned softly, trying to think of all the things that Percival had taught her and which of them he could possibly mean. “That you'll love me no matter what?”

Percival couldn’t help the warm, affectionate smile she gave him, “Of course that, baby, of course. But also, always, always, always trust in Daddy.” His palm pressed slightly more firmly to her cheek as he kissed her lips softly. “I'll protect and love and provide for you. So trust me.”

The bathwater had long gone lukewarm by now, but Obedience didn’t move, tucking her face silently against her father’s neck. It was a few more long moments before she spoke again, whispering into his skin. “You're going to give me my babies aren't you, Daddy? I can see it.” She straightened, looking up at the man, her gaze even and firm, a physical weight against Percival’s face, as if trying to search out any lies or deceptions he might make. “But you won't tell me how, right?” 

“My clever girl.” Percival smiled, pressing their foreheads together and brushing his nose against hers. “God is watching us, darling, that's what you believe isn't it?” Obedience nodded softly, staring at him, unblinking, daring him to lie. “I think God is smiling, my love. He's going to bless us even more with our babies, just you wait.” Percival kissed Obedience’s lips softly, feeling her soft sigh of relief on his mouth. “He's smiling on us, baby girl.”

\--

Tom was pacing the honeymoon suite that Graves had reserved for the night.

That seemed like an inaccurate assessment. It was one of the rooms on the entire floor that Graves had booked out for the night, the one that Tom had deemed the best and would be where he’d have his wedding night with his sweet Obedience. 

Champagne was cooling in the ice bucket, the bed was made up with the softest sheets they had, and Tom had gotten a vase for the beautiful bundle of red roses he had sent to Obedience for her bouquet, but had been suspiciously absent when she had walked down the aisle. As well as the ring he had bought her.

Sitting in the empty suite, waiting for Obedience to arrive, he couldn’t help but shuffle around, pacing, checking the clock.

At eleven o’clock at night Tom stormed down the hallway to the suite that Graves had taken for himself, pounding on the door impatiently.

He was raising his wand to unlock the door himself when it swung open, revealing Graves standing in the doorway, wearing a smoking jacket and taking a long drag from a cigar. 

“Tom, I was expecting you.”

“Funny.” Tom bit out. “I was expecting my wife in my own suite tonight.”

“Of course you were.” Graves stepped aside, leading Tom to the sitting area of the massive suite, the door to the bedroom open, giving Tom a brief glimpse of Obedience’s slender frame curled up on the bed. His breath caught for a moment, only long enough for Graves to continue on with a sneer. “Granted, you won’t be seeing your wife in your rooms tonight. Or any night.”

Tom froze, standing beside the couch and staring at the older man. “She’s my wife, that’s my right.”

The slow, vicious smirk that spread over the man’s face made Tom feel as if he had made a terrible misstep and was about to plummet down a flight of stairs. Graves sat down on the plush chair in the lounge, picking up the thick marriage contract, bound neatly into a black book. 

“I suppose it might have been at one point. But you signed that away.”

Tom snatched the book away, opening it and paging through frantically. Graves snapped his fingers and the pages snapped open, revealing the section of text.

“You really should read things more closely before you sign.”

“I didn’t agree to this! I didn’t agree to any of this!” Tom flipped through, snarling as he caught snatches of paragraphs, followed by his signature.

“Oh yes you did. You signed away your right to move Obedience into that little house you bought. Pardon me: placed a down payment on. You signed away your right to fuck my daughter.”

“Well what right do I have?”

“The right to silence.” Graves stood, looming over Tom as the other man held his ground, eyes shifting nervously to the door. 

“I’ll go have an annulment. If we haven’t consummated the marriage then there is no marriage.”

Graves gave Tom an unimpressed look, lip curling into a sneer before he nodded. “Fine.” Graves stood, pouring two glasses of No-Maj whiskey, holding one out to Tom. “Obedience.” He called, watching as the girl shuffled into the doorway. 

Tom’s eyes greedily swept over the slender frame, wrapped up in a simple white nightgown, the edges of fine white lace peeking out from beneath the flowing silk. Obedience hugged herself tightly, looking from Tom to her father. 

“Obedience. Go to Tom’s suite. He’ll be there soon.”

“Daddy-” Obedience’s eyes widened as she stared at the two older men, clutching her silk dress closer as she opened her mouth to protest. 

“It’s alright, baby girl. Do as Daddy says, everything will be alright.” Graves smiled reassuringly, making no move towards her as he remained standing beside Tom.

Tom made as if to follow as Obedience left, only for Graves to grasp the man’s shoulder.

“Have a drink. And a cigar.” The older man handed Tom the whiskey he had prepared, collecting a cigar from the box open on the coffee table, using the cutter to snip the end before he handed it over to Tom. Tom produced a silver, engraved lighter, and Graves scowled, raising a thick brow at the man. “You don’t know how to light a cigar, do you?” Tom watched as Graves’ long, powerful fingers produced a box of matches. “Never with a lighter, always with matches.” Graves lit Tom’s cigar. “Preserves the flavour.”

Tom relaxed as he took the first puff, sitting down on the couch, crossing his legs and smiling widely up at Graves. “So... Rethinking that no touching rule?”

“Oh no. Not rethinking it. But I see your point about that consummation. If by morning my sweet child is still a virgin then the entire marriage is annulled and all this is for naught.” Graves gestured to the whiskey. “Drink. It’ll loosen you up, make sure this night doesn’t end so quickly.”

Tom bit his tongue to avoid snapping over the implication and lifted the glass to Graves’. “To Obedience.”

Graves smirked around the rim of his own glass as he watched Tom down the drink. “To Obedience. May she remember who she’s sworn to obey.” 

When Tom’s eyes glazed and the potion took hold, Graves stood, taking Tom’s arm and apparating him into the other man’s suite, finding Obedience sprawled on the bed, her eyes closed and her shoulders tense about her ears as she slept, exhausted from the emotional trial of the wedding and the fear of Tom’s dreaded presence.

“Come now, baby girl.” Graves murmured, pulling his daughter into his arms, shushing her gently when she stiffened in his arms. “You’re safe, honey lamb, Daddy has you.”

“Daddy...” The girl whimpered, opening her eyes and looking up at him with drowsy, wondering eyes. “Is this a dream?”

“Yes, Obedience. This is a dream.” Graves whispered, kissing her forehead gently. “You just relax, let Daddy take care of everything.”

“Tom is going to-”

“Tom won’t touch you, baby girl.” The man whispered, his voice turning harsh and low. “Remember what Daddy promised?”

Obedience nodded, relaxing more visibly as she tilted her head to press a kiss to her father’s jaw. “This is a nice dream.”

“The best dream, I hope.”

Drooping, dark eyes looked up at him as the girl nodded. “The best.”

\--


	3. Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE NOTE THAT THIS FIC IS LARGELY UNEDITED. THIS INCLUDES SOME EVENTS THAT MIGHT SEEM LIKE THEY'RE IN THE WRONG PLACE, SOME EXPOSITION THAT DOESN'T TAKE PLACE ANYWHERE, AND GENERALLY MISSING EVENTS.
> 
> IT IS ALSO INCOMPLETE. THE FINAL CHAPTER OF THIS FIC WILL CONSIST OF THE NOTES I MADE FOR THE CONTINUED SCENES.
> 
> I WILL NOT BE COMPLETING THIS FIC, SO DO NOT ASK.

Chapter

Credence easily accepted the dream as he stared at his father carrying him gently through the empty, abandoned halls of the hotel, the colourful ceiling tiles moving past his father’s head at an even pace. He shivered as the older man gently laid him down on his bed, on the one that smelled like laundry soap and his father’s cologne instead of soap and Tom’s too-sharp aftershave. 

“If this is a dream...” Credence murmured, staring up at the ceiling. “Then I can do whatever I want...”

“Of course, schatzi.” Percival murmured, the older man leaning forward to kiss Credence;s forehead gently. “Whatever you want.”

Credence instantly opened his mouth, showing off his tongue to the man, whimpering softly when his father smirked and slipped his thumb over the flat of the muscle. 

“You want something in here?”

A whimper and a nod, Credence’s slender fingers reaching for the man’s slacks, tugging him closer, clawing at his suspenders and the button fastenings desperately. He needed this, needed to have this at least in his dreams if not in real life. When he woke he would be consummating his marriage with Tom, giving the vile man his virginity. But right now, in this dream, he was giving it away to the one man that mattered, the one person he had wanted to give it to ever since he had seen him across the street while Mary Lou spewed her hate into a crowd.

“Slow down, sweetling.” Percival chuckled, undoing his smoking jacket and letting the rich velvet fall away, sliding his suspenders off his shoulders before he undid the fastenings to his slacks. 

Credence whimpered openly, rolling languidly onto his stomach, nuzzling his face into his father’s thigh, doing very little to assist in the man’s disrobing as Percival began to remove his shirt and union suit as well. When the man’s clothing was cast aside and he was stark naked, Credence couldn’t help but let his gaze fall to the man’s cock, half-hard already and flushing dark. 

Long, slender fingers dipped between the soft curve of Credence’s thighs, stroking briefly over the curve of his slim cock, feeling the flesh already hard from arousal and want. Percival’s eyes peered down at where Credence’s fingers pressed further back, curling and pressing between the soft, wet lips of his cunt.

“Daddy...” Credence sighed softly, staring up at Percival as the older man sank down onto his knees before the edge of the bed, bowing his head between slender thighs as if about to say his nightly prayers. “Daddy, please.” The man tugged Credence’s wrist away, swirling his tongue around the slim fingers, sucking wetly before he pulled off with a pop. 

“Finger yourself, baby. Open up the holes you want Daddy to use.”

Credence’s fingers slid hesitantly between his thighs, the heel of his palm pressing to the base of his cock, feeling the twitching flesh tremble against his stomach. Percival groaned at the sight, giving a brief bite to Credence’s thigh, causing the boy to gasp at the sharp, bruising contact. 

“That’s it, babydoll.” The man purred, watching with inky, covetous eyes as Credence’s fingers slid slowly between the soft, wet lower lips. It was so messy, with the way slender fingers rubbed slowly around the tight entrance, brushing in experimental little passes of his fingers over the dripping, trembling flesh. “Show Daddy your pretty pink pussy.”

Pale cheeks flushed brightly and Credence hesitantly shielded his slender cock, hiding it behind his palm as his free hand parted the soft lips. Percival groaned, leaning in to swirl his tongue against the tender pink flesh, sucking slowly until Credence was shying away from the man’s face. 

“Daddy, no - no that’s dirty!”

“Nonsense. Keep fingering yourself, schatzi, Daddy wants a good taste of your slick.” The man murmured, letting his tongue press into the V of Credence’s fingers, delving alongside the slender digits to taste the pooling slick of the boy. 

“Daddy, Daddy, I-”

“Come, baby.” Percival snarled, pressing a wet kiss to the boy’s lips, groaning with a heavy satisfaction at the taste of his dripping cunt. 

Credence’s spine arched, his fingers jerking against his father’s face, trembling at the feeling of the man’s nose rubbing against the base of his cock, the man pressing his cheek against the slender cock when he pulled back for a breath. 

“That’s filthy, Daddy.” Credence whimpered, his hands reaching up to cover his face as his thighs trembled on either side of Percival’s head, twitching sharply when Percival’s head turned to bite and kiss and suck at the flesh of his inner thigh.

“Why do you say that?”

“Be-because it’s true.” Credence whimpered, staring down at his father with a whimper. “It’s demeaning.”

Percival leaned up, adjusting his broader frame until his hips settled between Credence’s thighs, the boy clinging tightly to his father’s waist. A gasp escaped Credence when two fingers, much thicker than his own, the wood of them unforgiving, slipped into the clenching, shuddering depths of his cunt. 

“Now, Credence. If I say your cunt is sweet and beautiful and perfect then that’s what it is.” Credence felt his stomach clench tightly, his lips trembling as he rocked his hips against the rough touches. “Now. What is your pretty pussy, babydoll?”

“S-sweet and beautiful and perfect.” Credence recited, his hips arching sharply into Percival’s grip, crying out at the feeling of his cock being stroked slowly by the man’s calloused fingers. 

“Perfect.” The man groaned, leaning in to kiss Credence, letting the boy taste his own sweetness on on Percival’s tongue. It hardly took much for soft, full lips to fall open, breathless gasps escaping Credence as he dove into the starved kiss. “You’re perfect, Credence. In every way.” 

He couldn’t help but watch as long, ebony fingers worked his cunt open in slow, even strokes before they slowly pulled free of the slick hole. Their breaths were heavy and loud in the silent room as Percival staring down at the messy, gape of Credence’s body, the man stroking his own cock roughly and pushing slowly against the boy’s entrance until he felt the gentle give. He couldn’t help the long, rumbling groan that escaped him, feeling a brief resistance before Credence’s walls clenched and loosened, allowing his father to sink in a few more inches. 

“Do you feel that, Credence?” Sharp teeth nipped at Credence’s jaw as the man panted harshly. “Feel Daddy’s cock deep inside you? Taking what’s mine by right? Tom can’t have this, he can’t have you, every inch of you belongs to me.” Percival groaned, snarling into the soft skin as he felt Credence’s fingers drag sharp nails down his back. “Every little bit is mine. And I’ll kill Tom before I let him have even an ounce of you.”

Their hips pulled flush together and Credence moaned loudly as Percival’s cock opened him wide, splitting him in an aching-pleasurable way he never would have thought possible before. He slid his own fingers down between their bodies, feeling the thick girth of his father’s length thrusting into his slick cunt, his fingers framing the man’s cock with every slow drag of flesh against flesh.

“Stroke yourself, babydoll.” 

Credence’s fingers inched away from his stuffed entrance, stroking slowly over the curve of his cock, shy and gasping at the dual sensations, his thighs trembling as he feels Percival’s cock go deeper and deeper inside him. His eyes lingered down at his flat stomach, shivering at the sight of his abdomen moving with each deep thrust, watching his own hand slowly stroke over his flushed pink length. 

“Credence...” Percival growled, kissing at the boy’s jaw and throat gently, his teeth grazing over the boy’s fluttering pulse, like a predator breathing in the scent of prey just before delivering the killing bite. “Come for me, schatzi, give it to me, give it to Daddy - ooohhh.” Credence felt himself tensing, tightening around his father’s cock until the man could barely shallowly thrust into him. “There you - that’s it - give it to me-” The man’s lips twisted into a snarl of pleasure and Credence gasped as those teeth sank into his shoulder while strong hips slammed home, a broad hand grasping at his thigh to hold him in place as warmth filled him to the brim.

His own orgasm took him by surprise, no come leaking from his cock, only his thighs tensing, shuddering as wave after wave of pleasure filled him to the brim, overflowing in the form of thick, clear slick drooling from his cunt around the heavy girth of his father’s cock. When Percival pulled free Credence couldn’t help the shiver of forbidden excitement that crawled through him at the sight and feeling of the man’s come slowly dripping onto the bedsheets beneath him. 

Broad hands grasped at Credence’s hips, flipping him onto his stomach easily. The boy gasped when he felt both pillows from the bed shoved under his hips, angling them in such a way that all Percival had to do was kneel and grind his limp cock against Credence’s slick entrances. The thick length of flesh was carefully guided into Credence’s loose cunt, the older man laying across Credence’s back as their hips fitted together once more. 

“Daddy-” Credence whimpered as Graves gave a soothing kiss to the bite mark on his shoulder, the man letting out a satisfied noise that could almost be classified as a purr against Credence’s skin.

“Sleep, Credence. I’ll keep you safe.” He murmured, palm soothing over the boy’s soft stomach. “You just sleep.”

Credence sighed contentedly even as he whispered, “But I’m already sleeping... I don’t want this dream to end.” 

“It won’t, babydoll... I promise.”

Eyelids fluttering closed, body heavy and languid and exhausted, Credence shivered as he allowed himself to drift off. “I want the baby to look like you.” He murmured conspiratorially. “I want him to be handsome, just like you, Daddy.”

Even though it was an impossible wish it was one he whispered fervently all the same.

 

Chapter

Credence awoke to the sharp, stale smell of alcohol on a man’s breath, wrinkling his nose in distaste and prying his eyes open.

There lay Tom Buchanan, arm thrown possessively over Credence’s waist and entire body pressed flush against the boy’s slender frame. The feeling of dry come crusted on Credence’s thighs was enough to make the boy wrench himself away from Tom, waking the man with a start as he darted out of the room and down the hall to his father’s suite. 

The doors opened easily at Credence’s approach and he was quick to spot his father on the couch of the sitting area, drinking a cup of coffee as he read the morning edition of The Ghost. 

“Daddy.” Credence’s voice broke on the word, his arms going about the man’s neck as he pressed close, shying into Mr. Graves’ embrace as he abandoned his coffee and paper. 

“Oh, schatzi... What’s wrong, what’s wrong?”

“Dad-dy, he - he - Tom took... He....” Credence’s jaw clenched with panic as he reached down and pressed his fingers to his thighs, flinching as he felt the uncleanliness of it all. “I wanted it to be you.” The boy sobbed, trembling as he pressed closer to his father. “I wanted you, not him.”

Mr. Graves gently pulled the boy closer, kissing his hair and soothing a firm palm over Credence’s back. “Hush, little one, no tears, no tears, honey lamb.” The man kissed Credence’s cheeks gently, carefully pressing their foreheads together so that Credence could look into his eyes and soothe himself. “Your marriage is consummated. He won’t ever lay another finger on you, I swear it.”

“He... While I slept, Daddy.” Credence shook, pressing his face tighter to the man’s. “He did it while I was asleep... Like - like some thing he could just use.”

“I know, baby, I know, he’s a vile creature.” Mr. Graves murmured, pressing a kiss to Credence’s jaw. “Once you have the baby we can get rid of him. I promise.”

“I want it to be yours, Daddy.” Credence couldn’t help the way his breath hitched as he stared at his father. “I hate him. I hate him so much, Daddy, I can’t stand it.” Long, pale fingers slid along the man’s jaw, thumb brushing at the man’s chin, over his lower lip, Credence looking up at Mr. Graves through his lashes. “You said you’d do anything for me, Daddy.”

“And I will, schatzi.” The man murmured, leaning forward, his lips barely brushing Credence’s cheek as the boy turned his head away. “Sweetling, I swear to you I will get rid of him.”

“Promise?” The boy whispered, looking up at the man again, all fae eyes and gentle beauty, seeing the way the other man’s eyes darkened, the way his father’s hands shifted to curl more possessively about his waist. This was a man who loved him unconditionally. This was a man who would do more than die for him, who would kill for him, if Credence so asked. 

Jesus Christ had died for his soul, Credence knew, but Mr. Graves was the only one who would want the tainted, blackened thing his soul was now. The only one who would fight for the mind, body and soul of broken, sinful, little Credence Barebone.

“Credence, look at me.” Mr. Graves’ voice was firm, still gentle and soothing but brooking no room for argument. Credence’s eyes flickered up to meet his. “Daddy will take care of it. Understand? Now you will stop worrying about this. This is a Daddy problem.”

Credence relaxed in increments, slowly allowing himself to be pulled closer until his head rested upon his father’s chest, the man kissing the boy’s temple gently. The coffee cup, that had been floating patiently beside them, and the paper that had been draped over the back of the couch, were both retrieved as Credence cuddled tightly against Mr. Graves’ chest, turning his head to look at the article his father had been reading. 

It was about Credence’s wedding, yet on the front page was a photograph of Mr. Graves holding Credence close to his side, protective and staring down the photographer. The moving photo showed Credence tucking his face to his father’s shoulder, shyly peeking out and looking off to the side where Tom was no doubt lurking, only to press closer to Mr. Graves and for the man to pull him closer to his side. 

Credence skimmed idly through the gossipy article before letting his eyes linger on the picture once more. 

“I think I’ll frame this.” Mr. Graves murmured thoughtfully, tapping the picture. “And put it in my office.”

Credence flushed gently, kissing at the man’s shoulder through the warm velvet of his smoking jacket, his fingers rubbing over the place above the man’s heart. “I would like that.”

“Are you calm now, babydoll?” The man asked gently, stroking his broad palm firmly over Credence’s shoulders, the ebony fingers digging gently at tense muscles. 

“Yes, Daddy.”

“Good, let’s get you a bath.” Mr. Graves gave Credence no time to protest, simply standing and carrying the boy’s slender frame to the bathroom. Even as they walked he could hear the tap of the tub turning on and watch the way his thin, white lace undergarments began to open and unfurl, along with Mr. Graves’ smoking jacket and lounging pants. 

By the time they were both settled in the tub, Credence was relaxed into the man’s embrace fully, letting the steaming water wash over him as he leaned into the broad chest behind him.

Mr. Graves’ fingers began to scrub and knead and stroke at the boy’s thigh, grabbing a washcloth to clean off the crust of come on his thighs and the lips of his pussy. Credence’s head tossed to the side, gasping into the damp, hot skin of his father’s chest, eyes vaguely focused on the Wampus staring at him from Mr. Graves’ shoulder.

“Hold your cock, schatzi... There we go.” Credence shivered as he gently pressed his flaccid length to his stomach, letting the cloth scrub gently between his legs, eyes downcast to watch the sight of his father’s arm moving slowly. The cloth was released and placed aside, long ebony fingers replacing the soft fabric, firmly pushing into Credence’s now-trembling cunt. 

“D-daddy...”

“Just making sure you’re all clean, babydoll.” The man murmured, kissing Credence’s jaw softly as his fingers continued to work against soft, supple flesh. “Let me just wash it all away.”

Letting his head fall languidly back onto Mr. Graves’ shoulder, Credence didn’t worry about containing the soft gasps and moans that bubbled up from his lungs and into the warm air. 

“That’s it, schatzi... Give it to Daddy...” Credence felt a small rush of pleasure, shivering and clenching and tingling through his stomach as he opened his eyes and tilted his head to watch the way his father’s jaw clenched and his breath hissed through his teeth as Credence clenched around the thick wooden fingers. “Such a good boy.” Mr. Graves murmured, leaning forward to kiss Credence’s lips in a soft, slow kiss, distracting Credence from the way fingers were removed and warm water gushed into the welcoming gape of his guardian muscle. “All clean now. All mine.”

Credence shivered, biting his lips as he pressed close to his father’s warm skin. “All yours, Daddy. Only yours.”

 

Chapter

The top floor of the brownstone was renovated to be the suite for the newly weds. Credence had watched, during the week before his nuptials, as the rooms were reorganised, redecorated, and repainted for the two. Credence’s private room was moved down to the second floor, right next to Mr. Graves’ master bedroom, and the small, full size bed that Credence had previously slept in was replaced with a rather large queen sized bed, built for sharing. He had frowned when his Daddy had come home with several rolls of green wallpaper clutched in his gloved hands and ordered that the paper should be put up in the couple’s room. 

Credence didn’t like the green wallpaper, depicting closed white lilies that, when you didn’t look directly at them, bloomed to reveal small skeletons clawing at the petals. When he had told his father that he hadn’t wanted the paper in the room, Mr. Graves had simply smiled indulgently and kissed him. “You won’t be sleeping there anyway, schatzi. No, not at all.”

Moving Tom in after the wedding was a trial in and of itself. By the time the man’s suits and such had been unpacked by Rosemary the man had wandered the entire brownstone top to bottom, only being allowed a brief glimpse of Graves’ bedroom and Credence’s boudoir. 

Lunch was a trial, as Credence took his seat beside Mr. Graves, Tom proudly taking the seat at the opposite end of the table, offering Credence what he must have thought was a gentle smile. 

“Obedience, darling... Don’t you want to sit here with me?”

Credence shook his head, staring at Tom with wide eyes before he looked up at Mr. Graves, begging silently for him to not make him move to sit beside Tom. “Credence is sitting right where he should be.” The man stated simply, his fingers reaching beneath the table to brush firmly over the boy’s thigh, out of Tom’s sight but the man’s eyes narrowed all the same.

Tom scowled, but didn’t say anything else. “Well I was thinking, darling, you and I could go out for lunch today.”

“That isn’t likely,” Mr. Graves didn’t even bother looking at Tom this time, reading the latest issue of The Ghost as he spoke, Tom could see the front page splashed with the bold title declaring GRAVES HEIR MARRIES WALL STREET WOLF, but the photo that was printed was of Credence and Percival Graves, the father of the bride scowling out at the camera while Credence flushed and glanced around, pressing closer to his father’s side as he shyly held his bouquet to his chest. Mr. Graves continued, “This is a Wednesday, on Wednesdays I take Credence on afternoon outings.”

“Well then perhaps I should come along.” Tom clenched his jaw, staring with narrowed eyes at Mr. Graves. Credence pressed closer toward his father, eyes flickering between the tabletop and Tom, growing increasingly agitated as Tom’s glare grew heavier.

“Nonsense, Tom. This is going to be an outing for Credence and I. I won’t have his delicate routines upheaved just on your fancy.”

Tom gritted his teeth, watching as Mr. Graves moved on to serve himself and Credence their portions of toast, bacon and eggs, buttering the boy’s toast for him as Credence fidgeted and watched Tom with the same wariness he would a snake poised at the edge of the table. 

“Well, Dad.” Tom bit out, watching Graves with increasing agitation. “I think that Obedience should learn to rely on me to take care of her, and to see to my needs before your whims.”

Mr. Graves looked up and Credence could see something predatory in his eyes, something primal and dangerous, not to be touched or trifled with. As he placed aside Credence’s piece of toast he reached for the bowl of oranges in the center of the table, grabbing one of the perfectly round fruits and digging his ebony thumb into the tough rind, peeling back with the polished wood until the rind sat in a perfect spiral discarded on the table. Tom’s shoulders nearly shook with the tension in the moment, all three of them remaining perfectly silent save for the soft tearing sound of the orange flesh as the sections were peeled apart and placed delicately on an empty plate. 

When the orange was fully served Mr. Graves picked up one section and presented it to Credence’s soft mouth, the boy instinctively opening his lips to accept the food being fed to him, tasting the smooth surface of Graves’ thumb, tongue tasting the orange juice upon the wood and giving a small suck to the surface. 

“No, Tom. Credence knows who he needs to honour and obey. I’ll not hear another word on this conversation.”

Tom’s lip twitched, on the bare edge of snarling, before he nodded stiffly, clenching his fist against the tablecloth. “I was thinking we could go to the country this weekend, Obedience.” He directed his eyes to Credence, who instantly averted his own gaze and shifted even closer to his father, practically pressing to the man’s side. “I bought a nice house there for you, even set up a floo network so I could come directly to New York for work.”

“What a waste of money.” Graves raised a brow, tugging the black bound book from his jacket pocket, flipping it open to a certain page. “Considering in the marriage contract it is clearly stated that you will both remain here for a minimum of a year, two if I believe it to be in Credence’s best interests.”

“But don’t you want to at least see it, Credence?” Tom insistently stared at the boy, Credence flushing and hiding his face against Mr. Graves’ shoulder. 

“If you must be so insistent, then I suppose this Saturday we can go.” Mr. Graves sighed, sipping at his coffee and feeding Credence another section of orange, letting his thumb press to the boy’s tongue briefly before pulling away to turn the page of his paper. 

Lunch was finished quickly and Mr. Graves watched as Tom left for work, the man leaning longingly towards Credence before catching sight of his father-in-law’s stern scowl. Credence was glad, he didn’t know what he’d do if he had to kiss Tom goodbye.

“Where are we going today, Daddy?”

“To that new bookstore, Inklings, you remember asking Daddy to take you there.”

Credence brightened considerably at that, looking up at his father and leaning forward. “If I promise to be good can we get those eclairs from Mr. Kowalski’s bakery?”

Mr. Graves smiled at the boy, kissing his lips softly as his coat swathed around his shoulders. “Hold tight to me, schatzi.”

Credence did as he was told, his own soft shawl pulled tightly about his shoulders as he stepped into his father’s embrace and clung to the lapels of his jacket. The feeling of being compressed, mingling with Mr. Graves, all air pressed from his lungs, and then released into the warm summer air made Credence gasp and shiver, recovering from the brief bout of nausea that always accompanied apparating.

Inklings was located on a quiet little side street near MACUSA, which had come as a particularly pleasant surprise to Mr. Graves when Credence had told him about it. It meant that Credence could easily be left alone in the bookstore with barely three blocks separating himself from his father. The sunlit front of the store had two long benches beneath a deep green awning, and inside there were more comfortable chairs where patrons were reading quietly to themselves or softly chatting with one another. 

Credence was quick to disappear amongst the shelves, looking over the various tomes lined neatly along the shelves. Mr. Graves followed him silently, the man smiling as Credence started to carefully read the first few pages of the books, selecting some and carefully putting others back.

He got so wrapped up in his perusal of the new bookstore’s wares that when he came across a small black book, he didn’t even glance up at the carefully carved plaque declaring what genre he was in, simply opened the book to see what was written inside. 

A Woman’s Illustrated Guide to Marriage and How to Please Her Husband

Credence’s eyes widened and he flushed brightly, staring at the title page and shyly moving to put the book back, only for his father’s hand to pull the book back and place it on the stack. Still petrified with embarrassment, Credence only made a small protesting noise, only to be gently shushed by his father.

“Now now, Credence, you need to learn these things too.” A broad hand rubbed at the boy’s slender waist, cupping the curve of it gently. “How else will you be able to have all those babies?”

Credence bit his lip, carefully placing his stack of books aside and opening the book and taking in the simple black and white illustrations, biting his lip at the sight of women in their underthings, underthings that matched some of the items Credence had in his own dressing room. There were detailed drawings of toys used for stimulation and preparing a woman for her husband. Credence froze at the sight of one illustration, the woman sprawled on her back, head over the edge of a bed, and her husband thrusting his cock into her mouth. 

“O-oh... Daddy, this is filthy.” Credence flushed brightly, even as he felt his own thighs tremble with want. 

“Mm, it is. But that’s what good little wives do.” Another page was turned and Credence stared at the sight of the woman’s legs spread, wrapped around her husband’s hips, his hands cupping her breasts firmly in broad palms. 

“W-would you want these things?” Credence whispered, staring at another illustration, the man’s head now tucked between the woman’s thighs, lapping at her cunt while the woman took her husband’s cock in her mouth. “It’s obscene.”

“Oh yes. Especially this one.” Graves traced his thumb over the illustration, smirking at Credence as the boy flushed and bit his lip softly. “I’d like to taste your sweet little pussy, you know.” The man whispered into Credence’s ear, making him shiver and flush even darker, his eyes tilted up to look at Mr. Graves’ dark, fathomless eyes. “Make you come with only my mouth.”

Credence’s own dark eyes fluttered, lashes dusting his cheeks as he pressed into the man’s warm chest. “I... I had a dream that you did that, Daddy...” He confessed softly. “When I... My wedding night... And it.... I dreamed it felt so good.”

If anything that made Mr. Graves’ eyes darken even more. 

“Do you want Daddy to make you feel good? Be a proper husband to you, Credence?”

Credence clutched the book close, flushing as he nodded. “Yes, Daddy.”

“Oh, wicked little creature. Tempting me so.” Graves sighed, pressing a kiss to the sharp curve of the boy’s cheekbone. “Soon, sweetling.”

They wandered amongst the shelves for a few more moments, Credence clutching his book close, before they made their way to the front with their purchases, Mr. Graves smiling as the till rang up fifteen dollars, looking at Credence with a smile. 

“Do you have your chequebook, little one?”

Credence flushed, ducking his head low out of habit, trying to make himself smaller as he reached into his pocket and produced the sleek leather pocketbook Mr. Graves had purchased him, with the chequebook, ledger, and neat little slot for cash. 

“There you go, fill it out like I showed you. Credence Graves... That’s it, honey.”

Credence bit his lip, well aware of the audience of the cashier and the two other customers lined up behind him, shakily, clumsily writing out his name, the dollar amounts, and the date as well as the name of the store. When he finally, carefully, tore the cheque from the perforated line, Mr. Graves was practically preening with pride, looking down at him as the books were wrapped quickly in brown paper and tucked into a large bag for the boy. 

They walked into the street and Credence shivered as Mr. Graves took him by the waist, leading him through the streets and winding around until they came to a small emporium, the soft, silky underthings on display making Credence flush and look over at his father quietly, biting his lip softly. “Daddy...”

“Do you want something nice to sleep in?”

Credence had several nice things to sleep in, soft cotton and warm flannel and fine lace, but he had been caught, more than once, eyeing Queenie’s soft silk nightgown whenever she would do her laundry while he visited. She had giggled the first time she’d caught him and had affectionately called it her “Hubby Nightgown”, explaining that it was the one she had bought for Jacob, when they had gotten married and she wanted the nights to be extra special. Credence had then gotten a catalogue for Madame Grey’s Emporium and had dog eared several pages that he would often flip through while fantasizing about his Daddy peeling off the delicate silk and lace and netting. He wasn’t sure why he didn’t simply go, or ask his father to take him, or any number of perfectly reasonable or valid things he could do. He had ordered things from magazines before, had asked to be taken to shops before. 

But this was different, because deep down, in some tucked away corner of his mind, the soft silk nightgowns in the pages of the magazine, were for his “hubby”. And he was married to Tom Buchanan, who was the last person he wanted to be seeing him in something silk and lace. Tom who he needed to be a good housewife for. Not Mr. Graves. Mr. Graves who was speaking with the sales clerk, a person of indeterminable gender with long brown hair and a pair of round spectacles perched at the edge of their nose. 

Credence flushed as Graves gestured to a few of the delicate items on display, the boy turning to look over the various lipsticks and perfumes, picking up a slim golden tube and reading the display. Cupid Kiss Lipstick, make the man of your dreams crave your kisses. Biting his lower lip Credence glanced at his father briefly before moving over to stand beside the two, the tube of lipstick in his fingers as he read the label on the side. Think of your man and watch the colour change to what is most appealling to him! He’ll never be able to resist!

“This way, Mr. Graves.” The clerk gestured to a small back room and Credence jumped when he realised they were talking to him. “My name is Alma,” Credence looked up at the person, squinting as if to find some further indication of their gender, but there wasn’t much to go on. 

“Hello, Alma. I’m Credence.” Alma smiled at that, snapping their fingers and let a measuring tape and notepad swan over. Credence couldn’t help but feel a little nervous, alone with the thick curtain between himself and his father. “First time?”

Credence flushed and nodded, removing his jacket and waistcoat, running his fingers over his delicate silk blouse and the small pearl buttons. His breasts were bound down slightly and Credence flushed as Alma clicked their tongue and shook their head. 

“No, no, that won’t do at all.” Another snap of their fingers and Credence gasped, feeling the fastenings of his binder release along with the girdle shifting just so, enough that the clerk could see the swell of Credence’s delicate breasts. The fabrics were quickly shucked off with magic and Credence flushed, standing in only the opened girdle and his underthings, the rubber binder Queenie had helped him select hovering a few feet away so that the measuring tape could tuck neatly against every curve and line of him.

“Now what colour do you like?”

“Black.” Credence murmured, flushing softly as he looked at the delicate silks. He paused, worrying his lower lip as he stared at Alma. “Is... Could I have it in that colour?”

The clerk looked where he was pointing and nodded, pulling out their wand and carefully guiding a bolt of fabric over. “This would look nice against such pale skin.” They hummed, letting the deep ebony fabric swathe around Credence. The boy flushed, pressing his palms to his chest briefly before letting the fabric cover him, watching as it was neatly cut, like a hot knife through butter, then delicate silver pins began to tack and mold it to his form. 

Credence gasped as the lace and thin ribbon straps were added, and the nightgown was being made right there, right as he stood, dripping down his thighs, lace barely licking above his knees, along his collarbones.

The gown did nothing to hide the smooth, slender curve of his waist, the swell of his chest, the way his thighs pressed gently together beneath the delicate fabric. By the time the pins were removed and the needle had tied itself off Credence couldn’t help but stare at himself, rubbing his hands over the dress as it was turned inside out then slid gracefully back over his frame. 

“Now don’t you look swell?” Alma grinned, all teeth and sharp eyes, taking in the sight of Credence, conjuring a mirror for the boy, who could barely look up at them, much less into the mirror. “Oh come on, don’t you wanna see how pretty you look? Just like a picture from a catalogue.”

Credence shyly bit his lip before looking up, chancing a glance and lifting his fingers to rest at his shoulder gently. 

Delicate lace kissed at Credence’s collarbones and the boy bit his lip, tilting his head this way and that just to watch the way the thin white satin ribbons that made up the straps. His fingertips slid over the low V of the neckline, fingering black Belgian lace and watching as the frail trim moved over his shoulders and collarbones, the soft swell of his chest emphasized by the fragile garment he now wore. 

“Mr. Graves.” Alma acknowledged, nodding at the doorway, and Credence looked up in the mirror, catching sight of his father, pushing aside the thick velvet curtain to peer into the fitting room. Pale, sharp cheeks flushed, looking at the man’s face in the reflection, his hands moving to rest upon his thighs, fingertips barely brushing the edges of the nightgown. 

“Might I recommend an addition?” The clerk continued, waving their wand and a pair of nude nylons came over, bunching up and when Credence lifted his left foot, then the right, they slid up his thighs easily, the seams perfectly straight on the backs of his calves. A pair of delicate black house slippers were also summoned and then a robe, black as well, but much more voluminous than the slinky, fringe-ladened things he normally wore. It swathed around him and Credence flushed as he looked to his father, biting his lips gently as the man approached him.

“Perfect.” The purr that rumbled from Mr. Graves’ chest could be felt clean through Credence’s own, the man’s broad hand sliding over Credence’s shoulder and arm, slipping down to his clenched fist, removing the nearly-forgotten tube of lipstick and carefully uncapping it. Credence’s lashes fluttered as the man carefully smeared the pigment across his lips. Looking to the mirror once Graves pulled back, he was almost disappointed at the pale colour on his mouth, pouting softly at his reflection.

Then the colour changed to a deep red, as if Credence had drunk an entire bottle of sacrificial wine, or flushed and swollen and bruised from kisses. 

He gasped in delight at the sight, eyes lighting up and Mr. Graves watched Credence as the boy puckered his lips in a brief kiss, smiling widely in a blatant attempt to imitate Queenie’s charming, advertisement-worthy smile. 

“Perfect.” Mr. Graves murmured again, smirking as he glanced at Alma, who flushed and ducked out of the small private room, letting the curtain swing shut for privacy. The older man leaned in, kissing those soft, full lips gently, slowly, letting his tongue press to the greasy paint of the lipstick, tasting something creamy instead of the usual bitter pigments of lipstick. Credence’s mouth fell open despite himself, a soft, breathy noise sighing out against Mr. Graves’ thin lips, the man’s tongue sneaking into the boy’s red-painted mouth. 

“Open your mouth more, babydoll.” The man let out the most struck moan as Credence obeyed, parting his lips further, letting his father delve deeper. One large palm reached up to cup the back of Credence’s head while the other went to grasp his hip, sliding back, back, further beneath the hem of the new nightgown until Graves’ fingers cupped the curve of his ass.

“D-Daddy...” Credence whimpered and flushed, eyes dropping to somewhere around Mr. Graves’ chest. “Daddy, we... We can’t.” He glanced up at those deep brown eyes and shivered at what he saw there, any further words lodging in his throat like a bite of apple. A taste of forbidden fruit that he had come to crave, desperately wanting to reach out and accept the bites from the Tree of Knowledge that his father so eagerly tempted him with.

Something dark flashed through the man’s eyes, deepening them, making them seem like the gates of Hell. Endlessly ravenous and deadly as they flayed Credence’s sinner’s soul alive. 

Credence averted his gaze, opening his mouth to whisper, “Not in a shop, it’d be indecent.”

Mr. Graves pulled back slowly, his lips barely brushing Credence’s as he did so, lapping his tongue at Credence’s full lower lip briefly to taste the lipstick. When he stepped back Credence felt an ache in the bottom of his ribcage, like pulling away had snapped a wishbone deep inside him, a physical pain at the loss of contact.

“Of course.” A broad hand swept through Mr. Graves’ hair, slicking it back once more as the man composed himself. His eyes held such promise for later and Credence couldn’t help the shiver that wracked through him as he met his father’s gaze. “Alexis.”

The clerk walked back in, their eyes flickering over to the two of them, catching on Credence’s mussed hair and bitten lips before glancing away, as if shy of the evidence of something unseemly occurring.

“We’ll take it. And three others like it, one in pink with the black lace and one in white.”

“Daddy!” Credence cried out, looking at the other man and flushing brightly when Graves’ eager, hungry gaze fixed him in place. He flushed and looked down, fiddling with his own long, trembling fingers. “Wh-what if Tom sees?”

“He won’t, schatzi.” Graves purred, cupping Credence’s cheek. “We’ll keep them in my rooms, along with all the other important, pretty things Tom isn’t allowed to see.”

 

Chapter

“Do you want to come to work with me today, Obedience?” Tom asked, voice high and sickeningly sweet, his blue eyes glinting with greed as his thin lips pulled into a wide attempt at an inviting smile. 

“Oh... That’s... Very thoughtful, Tommy, but I was going to visit Queenie at MACUSA.” Obedience gave the man a brief glance from the breakfast table, adjusting her housecoat.

“Off to get your nails manicured, hmm?” Mr. Graves smirked as he adjusted his tie, Obedience huffing at the way the man smirked at her. “Obedience will be busy all day. She’s expected at MACUSA with Doctor Sigmund.”

“Who is Doctor Sigmund?” Tom blinked, staring between the two. 

Obedience looked down, worrying her lower lip as she fidgeted and picked at her nails.

“Doctor Sigmund Seigel is the MACUSA psychological counselor.” Mr. Graves smoothed his palms over his lapels, looking at Obedience with a stern gaze. “Who will be seeing Obedience Graves promptly at two o’clock.” Obedience nodded and flushed, glancing at Tom’s furious, bright-red face. “So, Tom-” Tom’s eyes flickered as he turned his gaze to Mr. Graves. “Make sure not to distract my babydoll while she dresses. I don’t want you banging down the door to sneak a peek at her underthings.”

Tom’s face turned an even darker red as he opened and closed his mouth like a fish. Graves gave another stern look to Obedience and the man’s palm rested on the small of the girl’s back.

“Floo over at eleven, Obedience. We’ll take an early lunch then you and Queenie can go after your appointment with Doctor Seigel.”

Obedience nodded, flushing as she watched Graves close the door to her private room.

The lock clicked, the wards slowly slipping into place. Obedience had always been sensitive to Mr. Graves’ magic, and the wards were the most familiar magic she knew. They were like liquid warmth, thick on the air like molasses. The feel of the man’s magic was a comfort and she let out a shuddering sigh as she listened to Mr. Graves’ footsteps departing. 

She couldn’t hear but she was sure that her father was giving a few departing threats to her husband. Tom wouldn’t dare, and if he tried anything then Mr. Graves would know. He always knew when Tom was tempting fate or pushing luck.

Turning to her closet, Obedience tugged out a nice, svelte black suit, the one that was spelled to fit her whether or not she wore anything underneath. She didn’t like her men’s suits very much and this had been the closest that Graves had been able to get her to wear for her monthly assessments. It had helped that Obedience had seen magazine spreads with Coco Chanel wearing the same thing.

Foregoing the respectable men’s union suit, Obedience tugged on her silk underthings and the stiff girdle she loved so much. Staring at her reflection she couldn’t help but thrill at it. Her own naughty secret, the only one she could well and truly keep while sitting across from Doctor Seigel.

Black nylons and underthings in place, trim waist pulled in by the unforgiving silk of her girdle and the way her breasts just barely swelled within her brassier, small perfect little handfuls that she was infinitely proud of. Staring at herself in the mirror she couldn’t help but feel proud. 

Despite her month of marriage to Tom, her avoidance of the man, her absolute disgust every time Tom attempted to kiss her or so much as take her hand, Obedience had flourished. 

One of the Aurors with M-SEC had said that marriage suited Obedience, and she was inclined to agree and disagree in turns. She had never thought she could marry. She knew she was an invert, that something was wrong with her, Mary Lou had always told Credence Barebone so. But under the careful attention of her father Credence Obedience Graves had grown into something beautiful and desirable. Tom might think she was the one to make Obedience glow, to make her something beautiful, but it was all Mr. Graves. Percival Graves and his gentleness, his kindness and love and adoration of his only child had made Obedience into something she hadn’t dared to hope for under Mary Lou’s tyranny.

Obedience tugged on her crisp white shirt with the sharp collar, her tailored slacks, waistcoat and jacket. Her long robes were then tugged on, the red and white striped fabric shimmering as she tugged it over her suit in the way that Graves had shown her, letting the long, carefully hemmed ends brushing against the toes of her polished black shoes. She collected the necklace that Mr. Graves had given her, resting it against her chest, atop her black tie, tracing the golden chain and staring at the beautiful ruby and rubbing her thumb over it slowly.

She didn’t put on any of his makeup, no matter how naked she felt without it. She needed to convince Doctor Seigel that she was still Credence Graves, a respectable if damaged young man, only son of Percival Graves, healing well after the trauma of Gellert Grindelwald. 

She couldn’t convince him of all of that, but she could convince him she was Credence Graves. She had convinced Mary Lou for long enough.

Doctor Sigmund Seigel was much more difficult to convince but she would do her best until her dying breath.

The fireplace in her private room was connected directly by floo to Mr. Graves’ office and when Obedience glanced at the clock and saw it was nearly eleven and bit her lower lip before collecting a fistful of floo powder. 

“Director Graves’ office, please.” She whispered before throwing the fine powder into the fireplace and stepping through the green flames.

The office was empty and Obedience paused, staring in confusion at the numerous shelves of glass cases, the door to the wardrobe where her private room was spelled. There was no note on the desk and no sign of Graves other than his long coat hung beside the door. 

Carefully, shyly, Obedience opened the door to the office to chaos.

She gasped and shied away at the sound of shouting, two wizards and a witch throwing spells about and the familiar bright blue of Newt Scamander’s coat, his voice crying out in alarm over everyone else’s.

“Don’t hex him, he’s scared enough as it is!” The Magizoologist was shouting and Obedience squeaked as a pair of bright golden eyes appeared in front of her, followed by the rest of the creature, long, silver fur fluttering as the creature wrapped it’s arms around Obedience’s shoulders. “Credence!” Newt let out a sigh of relief and Obedience wrapped her arms around the creature, smiling gently at the other man.

“Oh...” Obedience stared down at the creature, taking in the way it gently adjusted her hair and her tie before it slid down and took her hand in it’s own long-fingered paw, leading her gently amongst the others and over to the mussed up Mr. Graves, who had watched the entire scene unfold after doing his share of creature chasing.

The creature led Obedience over to Mr. Graves, refusing to let go of Obedience’s hand even as the man gently hugged Obedience. 

“Fascinating.” Newt murmured, staring at the two and the creature. “Well then... Thank you, Credence. He seems much calmer now.”

“Mr. Scamander. A word in my office.” Graves finally spoke, tugging Obedience to his side and guiding the boy, the creature, and the magizoologist into his office quickly before closing the door.

The door locked and Obedience sat down in a visitor’s chair that the man had conjured for her, the silky-furred creature climbing into her lap and snuggling close, quick to wrap an ape-like arm around Obedience’s shoulders. 

Mr. Graves turned to Mr. Scamander, a frown on his face as he looked at the man. “Alright, I feel that I have been denied some critical, need to know information.” 

“Well we had found Gilbert in that pelt smuggling ring that Miss Goldstein was investigating and she asked me to come along as a consultant.”

“... Gilbert?” Mr. Graves asked, raising a brow at Mr. Scamander incredulously.

“The demiguise.” Mr. Scamander gestured to the creature - the demiguise - in Obedience’s lap. “He’s in remarkably good health, and seems to be a more recent catch.”

“Yes, well, why has he attached himself to my child?” Mr. Graves stared at the shyer man, attempting to wrangle more information out quickly.

“Well, if he’s anything like Dougal then he recognizes young very easily and has a very caring instinct. They make excellent babysitters for infant creatures. I assume it would be the same with human young.” Mr. Scamander smiled at the demiguise, who was now staring intently up at Mr. Graves. “I think he’s become very attached to Credence because he believes him to be a vulnerable human child that needs to be cared for.”

Gilbert let out a soft little coo and gently stroked at Obedience’s hair, something that made the corners of Mr. Graves’ eyes soften in a barely there sign of gentleness that both Obedience and Mr. Scamander seemed to catch onto. 

“I... I suppose I could take him back into my case.” Mr. Scamander reached out and Obedience tightened her grip on the demiguise, Gilbert letting out a pleased noise at the embrace. “Oh... Oh, I see.”

“Mr. Scamander, they both already seem attached and my house is so very lonely, what with myself at work and Tom off at god knows where with god knows who.” Mr. Graves gave the magizoologist a look. “Please compile all of your notes on the demiguise and I will make appropriate arrangements for Gilbert. As for now, I wouldn’t have the heart to separate them.”

The other man seemed to realise that Graves’ softness was more for his own child than the demiguise but his enthusiasm to learn how to properly care for the creature was enough to make Mr. Scamander start to talk as he spelled copies of his notes right before their eyes. 

Obedience, in her own little world, was happily snuggling against the demiguise, stroking over soft, silky fur and listening to the pleased cooing as Gilbert clung close and cuddled Obedience tightly. 

Lunch was ordered in, sandwiches from the small corner cafe that Percival had always bought for them when Obedience had been handing flyers out on the corner, delivered hot and comforting by the staff elves along with a carafe of hot coffee. Mr. Graves and Mr. Scamander continued to pour over a stack of notes, the older man asking pointed questions every so often, about demiguses and their tempraments, how to best care for them, diet and exercise and levels of intelligence and so on. Credence ate his own sandwich quietly, sharing bites with Gilbert, much to Mr. Scamander’s quiet disapproval, before the clock chimed for two o’clock and Mr. Graves ushered the three of them out of the office. 

“Come along, babydoll, time for our appointment. Thank you for your time, Mr. Scamander.”

“I’ll come by next month to check on Gilbert.” Thankfully Mr. Scamander took his cue and left after a firm handshake, wandering off to Tina’s desk where he collected his case and another notebook that he stuffed into his charmed coat pockets.

Wandering through the halls, Obedience let Gilbert walk beside her, the demiguise holding her hand, careful to guide her to follow closely in Mr. Graves’ footsteps. 

When they approached the door for Doctor Seigel’s office Obedience felt her feet slow and Gilbert gently, coaxingly tug her over, guiding her to hold hands with Mr. Graves, looking up with large, golden eyes that seemed to be telling her everything would be alright. Intellectually she knew that it would be. Mr. Graves wouldn’t let her be physically hurt, he would kill anyone who even tried, but it still made her chest ache with fear whenever she came for her assessments.

What if they took her away from her father? What if they found out that she was sinful and inverted and wrong?

“You’ll be alright, schatzi. Remember what we’ve discussed and what’s alright to tell Doctor Seigel.”

“Yes. Of course.” Obedience whispered softly, looking down. 

“You don’t have to hide anymore, Obedience.”

She nodded shyly, irrational fear lodging in her throat as the door opened and they stepped through into the dim office, illuminated currently by a large window letting in golden beams of natural sunlight. Doctor Seigel was a portly man, with a pair of large, round spectacles and a long, straight nose. He looked up from his desk and hummed, taking in the demiguise and Obedience and then Mr. Graves as the man nudged the girl forward gently. 

“Director Graves. Credence.”

“Obedience.” Obedience whispered, looking down at the soft, reassuring eyes of Gilbert as the demiguise hugged her fondly. 

“Obedience, yes, that’s what they called you in the papers.” Doctor Seigel made a note, adjusting his thick glasses before gesturing for the two to take a seat on the couch, standing and meandering around his desk to his own armchair across from the couch. “Now then. It has been a year since the incident with Grindelwald. Obedience, how are you faring?”

“I...” Obedience looked up at her father, pressing a little closer into his side as Gilbert tugged at her shirt collar gently and snuggled closer. “I’m alright. I can eat better now.”

“Full meals?”

“Yes.” Mr. Graves cut in, nodding as he rubbed her back firmly. “Still nothing too rich, but my sweet Obedience is eating much better.”

“Hmm.” Doctor Seigel looked down at the notes from previous sessions, fountain pen tapping upon the page lightly. “Obedience, you recently married. How do you find it has affected you? Not a year ago you were a poverty-stricken no-maj. This must be quite the adjustment.”

Obedience nodded, shyly glancing at Mr. Graves before she spoke. “It’s not that much of an adjustment. Tom and I don’t sleep in the same room and he leaves me alone most of the day since he’s at work or out with drinks with his coworkers. He only comes to me when he’s-” Obedience cut off, staring at the Doctor before she flushed and ducked her head. “When he.... Wants me to fulfill my wifely duties.”

“And do you?”

“Not since.... Not since the wedding night.”

“Are you afraid of intimacy, Obedience? Of touch?”

“Oh! No!” Obedience shook her head, her soft, flyaway strands of her bobbed hair brushing her cheeks. “I cuddle with my Daddy all the time and he helps me clean up and dress in the mornings. I couldn’t live without Daddy touching me!”

“You help Obedience dress?” Doctor Seigel’s eyes fixed on Mr. Graves and there seemed to be a silent battle of wills before the man continued to speak. “Why do you help your child dress when they are an adult?” The implication lay thick in the air, a physical weight upon Obedience’s chest as she refused to meet anyone’s eyes and pressed her face to her father’s shoulder.

And as simply as if there was no other way to answer, Graves gave a lazy smile to the other man, “Because I want to.”

Letting the subject drop for the moment, another note was made and Doctor Seigel continued. “Do you have nightmares, Obedience? About your family? About the obscurus? About Gellert Grindelwald?”

Obedience shifted uncomfortably in her seat, stroking over Gilbert’s silvery fur and looking over at her father, even though she knew that he wasn’t allowed to answer in place of her this time. “I... I’m...” The girl struggled a little, bit the inside of her cheek softly before she managed to continue. “I don’t really... Daddy said not to worry.”

“Sometimes it’s difficult not to worry. Sometimes our brains have no way of relaxing, especially after such traumatising events. They can cause difficulty sleeping, eating, reckless behaviour... Personality disorders... Vulnerability.” The last two on the list were pointedly aimed at Mr. Graves but neither man acknowledged it beyond a narrowing of eyes. 

“Daddy said not to worry... I don’t worry about those things. They’re things for Daddy to worry about.” Obedience whispered, looking at a spot on the carpet rather than either of the men in the room. 

“So you are sleeping well, I trust?”

“W-well Daddy makes sure I’m comfortable and sometimes I need a spoonful of dreamless sleep before bed and we’ll-” Obedience froze, eyes wide as she clamped her mouth shut, nearly letting something slip out of carelessness.

Mr. Graves’ large hand rested on the nape of her neck and gently stroked into the fine strands of her hair. “Sometimes we do share a bed, on particularly bad nights,” Graves finished for her, large hand soothing and warm on her skin. “Don’t we, sweetheart?”

Obedience nodded, hugging Gilbert closer until the demiguise gave a soft little noise of reassurance, nuzzling into the girl’s slender throat and cooing gently. 

A few minutes of silence, a few more notes, and then Doctor Seigel was standing. “Obedience, why don’t you floo over to Miss Goldstein, I would like a private word with your father.”

The girl glanced at Mr. Graves, uncertainty painting her features. “It’s alright, Obedience. You and Queenie can go on your outing.”

Obedience nodded, collecting the floo powder and tossing it through. “Miss Queenie Goldstein’s apartment, please?”

Gilbert clung tighter and Graves smirked as Obedience shushed the demiguise and stepped through the flame confidently before the green flames turned to ash. 

 

Chapter

“Are you familiar with Greek tragedies?” Doctor Seigel asked as he moved to his desk, organizing his notes methodically as he did so.

“Some. I am not one for plays.”

“There’s one in particular. Oedipus Rex is a play written by Sophocles. Freud cites the play in his research very heavily.”

Percival’s jaw tightened as he stared at the other doctor, raising a brow slowly. 

“In the play King Laius is granted a prophecy by an oracle upon the birth of his son, telling him that his son will kill him when he is an adult. The king orders his son killed, but his wife, Jocasta, instead sends her infant son to a distant kingdom. Oedipus grows into royalty, into a fair and just and righteous king, a rarity in Greek mythos.” Doctor Seigel watched Percival’s face carefully. “Details are unimportant in regards to Freud’s research, but in the story Oedipus fathers four children with Jocasta, his own mother, after killing his birth father, not realising what he has done. When he discovers the truth, knowing he has committed a vile crime, he gouges out his own eyes. Jocasta hangs herself and the tragedy of their children continues on, as is typical of Greek tragedies.”

“And this relates to Freud how?”

“Freud’s most popular psychological phenomenon is the Oedipus Complex, where sons covet and feel sexual desire for their mothers and vice versa. A thinly veiled excuse for incest and pedophilia.”

The wood of Percival’s wand arm creaked and Doctor Seigel stared at the other man. “Now tell me, Percival Rex, why I should not report my theory to the President?”

“Because you have no proof.” Percival stated simply, his fist not relaxing even as he casually stepped forward, into the other man’s space. “Is it really so surprising at our closeness? For a year no one noticed that I was gone. No one but Credence. I was his only friend, his only companion, and he the only person outside of my work whom I could come to with my own affection. Our closeness is a result of mutual trauma. You said so yourself when we were first given to you for assessment.”

“This is too close, Director Graves.” Doctor Seigel whispered, staring at him. “You bathe Credence, you dress him, and you’ve imposed this.... Delusion of femininity.”

“I have done no such thing. I have merely allowed my child to become what they desired. Sometimes that is a girl. Sometimes that is a boy. They can be as young or as old as they want to be in my care and I will love and cherish them just as much as I always have.” Percival stepped even closer and Doctor Seigel stepped back slightly. “My child, my light of my life, is healthy and happy in my care. I did that. Not you. Not Seraphina Picquery. Certainly not Tom fucking Buchanan. Me.”

“You are fostering codependency in your child. He won’t be able to function without you.” Doctor Seigel pointed out sharply, frowning at the other man.

“Why would they need to?” Percival slipped his hands into his pockets. “They don’t need anyone else.”

The older man stared at Percival for a long, agonizing moment before he wrote something on a piece of pink paper, handing it over to the other man. “Credence Obedience Graves is cleared of any future psychological assessments. I wash my hands of this.”

Percival took the slip of paper, reading it over before smirking at the other man. “Percival Rex... I like that. I think I’ll keep it.”

 

Chapter

“Well then, Tommy boy.” Graves collected the cigar cutter from the tray it resided in, neatly polished and maintained, easily severing the stiff ends of the two cigars he had collected. “I suppose you want to talk about Obedience.”

Tom easily accepted the cigar, letting Graves strike a match and light it. “Yes, I do, in fact.” Tom blew a clumsy attempt at a smoke ring, Graves watching the lopsided cloud drifting through the air before he looked Tom in the eye. “Obedience is my spouse. I think I deserve to have her in my bed at night.”

“Hm.” Graves poured two glasses of Ogden’s Best, slipping an innocuous little vial of clear fluid from his pocket, pouring the contents into Tom’s as the other man ambled casually around Percival’s study, flopping into a chair by the fire and accepting the drink from his father-in-law without hesitation. 

“It’s been a month. I want her.” He gave Percival a look and grinned around the rim of his glass, downing half of the drink in one go. “No one ever said it at the Wampus Lodge, but you all but promised her sweet puss to get someone to marry her. Showing her off all the time and talking about her doctor visits.”

Graves’ face was carefully neutral, staring at Tom as the man tilted his nearly non-existent chin in a challenging stare.

It didn’t take long for Tom’s eyes to glaze, to drift closed, for the man to slump into the chair and the glass to slip from his fingers and shatter upon the carpet. He looked dead, for a brief moment, his body lax and his chest barely moving with his shallow breaths. Graves couldn’t help but sigh to himself in disappointment as he waved his hand and made the sleeping man float carefully into the air.

He wasn’t nearly as careful as he could have been, probably should have been, with guiding Tom to the green wallpapered bedroom, the skeletons peeking outside of the white lilies on the walls, quietly grinning widely at their victim. 

“Good night, Tommy boy. Pleasant dreams.”

\--

When Tom jolted awake it was in the still, fragile darkness that characterized the dead of night. He shifted slightly, jumping when he felt something pressed to his side, to his legs. 

“Tom?” Soft, fae eyes looked up at him, thick black lashes fluttering as Obedience looked up at him from where her face was pressed to his thigh, her mouth bare inches from his cock through his trousers. “Tom, why is Daddy upset? He said that I needed to be here with you... He was so angry about it.... It scared me.” Those perfect, full, cupid’s bow lips trembled as the girl looked up at him the way he had envied whenever she looked at her father. Tom’s gaze trailed over her neck, her shoulder, the soft curve of her ribcage, the line of her waist, hip, thigh, all the way to her dainty feet, her body covered only by a thin scrap of silk and lace, her delicate little breasts trembling with her breathing, her nipples peaked from the chill of the room. 

“He’s upset because you’re mine.” The man murmured, tangling his fingers in Obedience’s short hair, tugging her closer, urging her up to his chest, turning until he could kiss her, long and slow and needful, feeling her breath sigh across his lips as she shivered and whimpered. “He’s angry because he didn’t think I’d demand what was mine. Doesn’t like the reminder that you’re mine.”

“T-Tommy.” She whimpered, straddling his lap, gasping in shock at the feel of his cock as he groaned at the sight of her slick fluids smearing over his slacks.

“You’re all wet for me, baby girl.” He growled, grabbing her hips, willing his magic to cooperate so that he could undo his slacks without releasing the angel in his grasp. “God, you want this don’t you? Need a good fucking, need you husband’s cock, the only cock you’ve ever had?”

“Y-yes...” Obedience flushed darker and bit her lower lip. “I-I’ve always wanted it. E-ever since our wedding night.”

“Yes.” Tom growled, thrusting up into her, uninhibited, nothing stopping him from thrusting into the plush, silky flesh of her cunt, feeling her thighs shaking as her head fell back and her chest heaved with her breaths, his lips capturing a nipple through the silk and suckling greedily. “Mine.”

\--

Percival watched as Tom grunted, mumbling in his sleep, rutting against the bed with reckless need. The older man smirked, listening to the other man repeating the same name over and over, and Graves shifted away from the bed, looking around the room casually. His eyes caught on a letter peeking out from the nightstand, the envelope neatly maintained save for the crease at the top fold. Pulling the stiff stock of the photograph out of the well-worn envelope Graves’ eyes darkened and he smirked. His eyes took in the dark haired woman in the picture. She was voluptuous and tall, wrapped in nothing but a thin black silk negligee lined with lace. 

“Oh, Tommy boy... You really shouldn’t have.” Graves tucked the picture back into the envelope, placing it back in the drawer. “A perfect scandal. Just what I wanted for Christmas.”

 

 

Chapter

Gilbert slipped into their lives quite easily and Rosemary was quite pleased with the creature, despite the fur the demiguise shed everywhere. 

Newt’s notes on the care of the demiguise were very specific, a result of the beast being one he was very familiar with. The creature could predict thirty seconds into the future and was more than capable of minding simple household spells. This allowed for Rosemary to do other housework while Gilbert watched dinner cooking itself or for Gilbert to go with Credence out shopping and keeping the boy from coming in contact with anyone who meant him harm. 

The most useful thing that Gilbert did, the thing that made Percival certain to come home with a box of sweet pastries every day, was Gilbert’s staunch avoidance of Tom and ability to make sure that the man didn’t find or lay a hand on Credence throughout the days.

“Oh come now, Obedience.” Tom gave what he must have thought to be a disarming smile, wheedling at the younger man as he stepped closer. Gilbert nudged Credence away even as Credence tried to serve eggs and bacon and toast to Graves, who sat at the head of the table and read the Ghost, eyes fixed on Tom rather than the paper at the moment. 

“It’s a very nice house. Out in the open air, the country, perfect for raising children. You know mother so wants grandchildren.” Tom gave a forced looking smile and Credence slid to the opposite side of Percival from the man, using his father as an effective barrier. “It cost $32,000, Credence. It’s a wonderful home, perfect for a family.”

“No, Tom.” Percival decided to cut this off now, folding his paper and piling eggs and bacon on his toast. Tom froze and Credence’s shoulders relaxed gently, the boy tucking his face shyly against Graves’ throat. Graves chewed and swallowed his bite carefully before reaching into his breast pocket, pulling out the small leather bound contract and waving it at Tom. “You and Credence will remain here. That was what we agreed upon in the contract.

“I... Damnit, Graves, I bought a house!”

“Yes. Terrible arrogance that. You really should have consulted me first.” 

Tom’s face turned bright red, his already thin lips practically disappearing as he stared at Graves. “I don’t think I should have to ask my father-in-law permission as to what to do with my wife.”

Graves stood abruptly, the motion making Tom cower back from him, taking two steps away from the table as the older man rapped his wooden knuckles upon the table firmly. “I am the head of this house and Credence is my child. My blood, first and foremost. I will not have him ruined by the likes of you.”

Tom scowled, refusing to bow his head to the other man, before he turned on his heel and left, grumbling about the whole thing. 

Credence shook quietly as he glanced at Percival, the older man turning to gently stroke his palm over the boy’s cheek and jaw, kissing his forehead softly. “I’ll take care of him, Credence. Why don’t you and Gilly go upstairs and spend the day in your room?”

Delicate fingers worried gently at Percival’s tie, clenching and unclenching around the fabric gently before the boy looked up through long lashes. “You’ll lock me up? I don’t want Tom to get in.”

“Of course.” The man murmured, smiling as he cupped the sharp line of Credence’s cheek in his palm. “Come along, let’s get you locked up nice and tight.”

Graves let Credence fuss around and beg for a kiss and a hug that lasted far longer than normal, the boy, looking at him with those beautiful, fae eyes of his, begging Percival to stay.

“I’ll be by for lunch and I promise to bring you a sweet.”

Credence nodded quietly, but still refused to release his father. “I love you, Daddy.” He whispered, pressed flush against the older man, who smiled gently and leaned down for another kiss. “Daddy... Daddy, my cunt is sore.” The boy whispered, and Graves could see the way the boy widened his eyes in a play for innocence, smirking at the blatant attempt at manipulation. Credence had been whispering that more often, telling Percival that he needed more salve put on him, that he was sore. Hungry little creature that Credence was, Percival was inclined to indulge the boy rather than deny him.

Snapping his wooden fingers, Percival summoned the familiar jar of salve from his bathroom cabinet, kneeling before his sweet boy as Credence slumped on the small couch before the fireplace in his private room. Locking the door with another wave of his hand, Percival tugged Credence’s thin, silky robe open, staring hungrily at the blush pink nightgown that Alexis had made for his sweet boy. The boy lifted the skirt easily, obediently, spreading his thighs, like something from the dirty magazines that Percival used to page through on lonesome nights, and watching Percival expectantly. His cock, slender and pink, was limp inside his underwear, resting against the crease of hip and thigh when Percival tugged the thin silk off, bunching the nightgown about Credence’s waist and making the boy spread his legs wider. 

Two long, thick wooden fingers dipped into the salve before slicking up Credence’s cunt, rubbing teasing circles around the boy’s gaping entrance, slipping first one finger inside, then two, feeling at the tender walls and the perfect “o” of the boy’s guardian muscle. Graves’ free hand pressed at Credence’s thigh, holding him open as the stiffer, unyeilding digits worked through the quickly dampening flesh, paying careful, indulgent attention.

Credence bit his lower lip and let out a strangled noise, closing his thighs about the man’s wrist firmly. The thick medicinal smell smeared over Credence’s lower lips and the crease of his thigh and Graves pressed his nose and lips to the tender flesh of his thigh. A growl escaped him as he pressed closer, wanting to sink his teeth into the flesh, to mark Credence, smear his lips with the blood from the wound, lick it away and tenderly kiss and heal it until the scar there would declare to all who the boy belonged to. 

“Daddy...” Credence gasped, his fingers tangling in Percival’s hair and tugging him closer, trying to drag the man’s mouth to where he really wanted it. Graves grinned widely, sucking soft, dark marks into the tender skin. “Daddy, please, I ache.”

“Oh?” Graves purred, looking up at the boy. “For what, schatzi?”

“I... I don’t...” Tears welled in the boy’s eyes and he threw his head back, gasping as his thighs trembled and tensed on either side of the older man’s head. “Please.”

Graves tasted the thick, tingling salve as he gave a long, slow lick over Credence’s cunt, up the slim, still flaccid line of his cock, suckling at the tip and making the boy arch and gasp in need at the touch. Percival pulled back as Credence jerked, trembling violently, abdomen clenching and Graves smirked at the dribble of clear fluid that escaped Credence, dripping onto Graves’ own thigh. The force of the sudden orgasm had Credence panting and laid back on the bed, bobbed hair sprawled out as Graves rubbed his lips over the wetness smeared over Credence’s pinkness, dipping his tongue in briefly to make the boy’s thighs tense and his knees press to Graves’ head.

“Better, honey?” The man purred, grinning as he held Credence still, letting Graves rub his thumb smoothly over the dripping pink wetness of his cunt. “Do you still ache?”

Credence shook his head, flushing as he watched his father pull back, his eyes fixed on the wet spot on the older man’s thigh and the shape of his heavy cock through his slacks. Creamy thighs parted slightly, hesitantly, and his eyes looked up at Percival, shy as she reached down and covered herself with delicate fingers, rubbing against the thick, bitter smell of the salve. 

“I-if you come outside... I won’t get pregnant, right?”

“That’s right, baby.” Graves murmured, reaching up to unbuckle his belt, letting it fall open as he carefully undid the buttons of his slacks, pulling his cock out of his underwear and revelling in the sight of Credence staring at him. His poor boy, his sweet child, desperately starved for touch, for love, indulging in the lust that had raged through both of them, repressed for so long, now free to run rampant.

“I want... I want you to come... To come here...” Credence whispered, staring up at the other man. “But I... Tom...”

Graves leaned forward, bracing an arm over the boy, stroking himself in long, languid pulls, and rubbing the head of his cock against the soft, silky flesh of Credence’s cunt, pushing barely an inch into the boy, making him gasp and shiver beneath Graves. 

It didn’t take much more for Graves to come, already so desperately worked up from seeing his sweet boy fall apart. A few rougher pumps of his length and the press of his cock against the tight clench of the boy’s guardian muscle until he groaned, coming in thick, sticky pulses inside the boy.

“O-oh!” Credence tried to tuck his knees tighter, looking up at Graves and letting his lips tremble. “Oh no, Daddy!”

“Shh... That’s it...” Graves shoved two fingers inside, pushing his come deeper into the boy, feeling him shiver and gasping at the sharp aftershocks of pleasure. 

“Daddy, what if-” Credence flushed, covering his face and biting his lips.

“What if what, schatzi?”

“What if... What if Tom can tell?”

Graves’ eyes darkened, something ugly, viscous and possessive crawling up his throat. “Has Tom been looking at your cunt, Credence?”

“N-no!”

“Have you been spreading your legs for Tom?” He leaned closer, grasping at the boy’s chin. “What is your name, Credence?”

“C-Credence Graves.” Credence whispered, looking up at Graves with shaky confusion.

“Graves. Not Buchanan. You are mine. Not Tom’s.”

Credence nodded, reaching out for his father and letting Graves collect him close, shushing the soft, terrified snuffles escaping the boy. 

“D-daddy...” The boy’s voice shook with nervousness as he clung tigheter. “I don’t want to live with Tom in the country, I don’t - I can’t-”

“Sh-sh-sh-shhh.” Graves pressed his thumb to Credence’s soft, full lips, waiting for the boy to calm before he carefully edged the digit into the boy’s mouth, feeling Credence’s tongue press and his lips suckle gently at the digit, nervously grazing his teeth over the thumb. 

“You don’t need to worry about that, honey lamb. Daddy’s taking care of it.” 

 

Chapter

Mr. Graves always liked it when Obedience was freshly cleaned when he arrived home. It was something that she had discovered on accident. Somehow, some way, in the time she had been living with her Mr. Graves, learning his routines, forming her own, she had learned that the older man was particularly responsive and more prone to leaning in, kissing and touching her cheek, her neck, her temple, when she was fresh from a shower. 

So, sitting in the steaming tub, her hair shielded from the water with a thick silk scarf as she leaned her neck against the rim, Obedience couldn’t help but think of her father as she carefully cleaned between her legs, feeling the smooth curve of her length, and the softer part of her lips as she moved the soft terry cloth across her skin. She had picked out the bath oil that smelled like oranges and cloves, a gift from Mr. Graves that had made her fluster and gasp with delight, cleaning at her skin and letting the scent soak into her, breathing the decadent scents as she let her eyes close. She thought of his hands, rough and broad and heavy on her skin, thought of the way he would grasp at her hips, her ribcage, her thighs. 

She thought of the dream she had had on her wedding night and didn’t doubt that it was a small mercy her father had bestowed on her. She knew of such potions to compel dreams like that. She had read about them before her wedding night, desperate for something to ease the thought of having to consummate her marriage with Tom Buchanan. She wasn’t stupid. Mary Lou Barebone had been quite clear that a woman who would not perform her wifely duties was committing a sin against God, was a liar and no better than an adulterer. Mr. Graves himself had been less insistent about such devotions to Tom’s needs on her wedding night. So long as Obedience had spent the better part of the evening with her father.

Climbing out of her tub, Obedience sighed and picked up one of the charmed towels, warm and fluffy and so very soft on her skin. She hadn’t ever thought that she could have such soft, gentle things with Mary Lou. Had resigned herself to an eternal state of purgatory at the bite of her belt. Her skin now... Now creamy smooth, free of scars, her body softer, no longer so starved for food, for love, for something so basic as touch that didn’t end in pain. Looking in the mirror she took in her towel wrapped form, pulling the clean, white fabric away to stare at herself.

Obedience’s vision of herself was forever shadowed by her father’s touch now. The places that his gaze lingered might as well be branded in her mind. The soft, delicate swell of her breasts, small handfuls that the man had kneaded to soothe the heavy ache when her hormones had been balancing out, now the man eagerly cupped at them and offered soft kisses to the place just over her heart. Her hips were smoother now, no longer so sharp with the jut of bones from malnourishment, her thighs touched now, the meat of them pressed close when she stood with her feet only a small bit apart. Her hair was glossy and dark and bobbed in the fashionable cut that she had seen in a magazine, sleek and close and silky smooth. Obedience pressed a palm to her stomach, no longer concave but smooth and flat and taut, and as she brushed her fingers down, looking at her flaccid prick, she couldn’t help but feel that it was less unattractive now, now that her father had shown such delight in it, in the soft, pink flesh of it and the eager gape of her cunt. 

Everywhere she looked she could see her father’s touch, as surely as if his palm had burnt away the parts that had made her disgusted with herself, as if he had sculpted this new form from the ashes of her old self. 

Trailing her fingers over her collarbones, Obedience, turned, collecting the underthings and dress she had laid out for herself, watching as Gilbert absently napped on the bed, the demiguise keeping a half-lidded gaze on the door. When his eyes flashed a familiar, unearthly blue when she had begun to dress she paused, only to jerk around when she heard a loud curse from the door to her rooms, followed by a thud and Tom’s voice swearing up and down.

“Fuck! My eye!”

Obedience froze, staring at the door only to breathe in relief at the sound of someone apparating inside the house with a crack of displaced air. 

“Tom.” Her father’s voice was clear and Obedience hastily tugged on her robe, shuffling quietly to the door to listen on the other side. 

“You fucking basta-”

“Ever hear the story of Lady Godiva?” Tom was cut off by Mr. Graves’ voice and in the silence she was sure her father had lifted his hand to silence the man with a spell. Obedience glanced down as she felt something warm on the floor, covering her mouth to keep from gasping at the sight of blood leaking through the crack between door and hard wood. “Lady Godiva rode naked through the town square, a trade so that her husband would do as she had wished him to.” A creak of the floorboards and the sound of Tom struggling, trying to escape the no doubt fierce grip of Mr. Graves. “The Lord agreed, not realising she would do so until it was too late, and hastily ordered everyone to cover their windows and not watch his beautiful wife ride naked through the town. Now the story leaves out the part where the Lord placed a curse upon the town. Any who looked upon his wife during her ride would be put to death by a blade through the eye.” Tom let out a strangled noise of pain and Obedience hesitated before placing her eye at the keyhole, looking through just in time to see her husband’s wooden thumb jab into the other man’s eye firmly. “You’re lucky that I did not kill you with my own curse.” 

Tom collapsed on the floor, covering his eye and screaming and Obedience heard her father murmur, “Vulnera Sanentur.”

The man on the floor stopped writhing in pain, but his breathing was still ragged, his hand still pressed to his face even as the bleeding stopped. When he removed his palm to feel the tender, swelling flesh his eye looked red, but undamaged from the curse Mr. Graves had laid on the keyhole. Obedience kept her mouth covered as she stepped back from the door, moving quickly when she heard the lock click, perching herself on the edge of the bed and waiting, staring at the door awaiting her father.

“Now, Obedience.” The older man murmured, his eyes lingering on the fact that she had only managed to pull on her underwear and one sheer stocking before she threw on her robe. “Were you aware that Tom was watching you?”

Obedience shook her head, biting her lip as Mr. Graves prowled forward like some great beast, like the picture of a Wampus cat that she had seen in one of her books, as the door snapped and locked shut behind him. A roar of a wampus cat could kill a man. She did not doubt her Mr. Graves’ own voice could be enough to kill as well if he spoke the right words. 

“Of course you didn’t... My sweet angel.” The man rubbed his palm over her stomach, upwards over the swell of a breast before he leaned down to kiss her neck, his nose tucked against her pulse as he breathed deeply. “My schatzi.”

Obedience gasped as she was pushed back onto the bed, Mr. Graves’ tongue pressed to her jaw, his mouth sucking at the tender skin, at the lobe of her ear and the dangling pearl earring brushing over her soft skin. The man pulled back, smirking as Obedience whimpered, the girl looking up at him as he loomed over her smaller frame. 

“Obedience.” Her eyes fixed on him, long lashes fluttering as she stared up at him, the afternoon sunlight spilling through the windows, golden and clean and making him look so very warm. His face was stern, severe, but Obedience wouldn’t trade it for anything else, not when his eyes were so hungry and burning with a passion she was sure no one would ever feel towards her. “Obedience, spread your legs.”

Obedience’s legs spread and Mr. Graves purred, staring down at her. Her heart leapt into her throat as his eyes lingered between her thighs. He slid further down, kissing at her thigh where her fingers gripped at the meat of her leg, staring eagerly between her legs, his wooden hand stroking over the leaking, twitching length of her cock.

“Hold yourself open, baby girl. I love your pretty clit so much, but I want to see your pretty holes too.”

She could feel the flush high on her cheeks, staining her skin. She squirmed at her father’s words, biting her lip as she shivered and reached down to tug her thighs wider apart, staring down at Mr. Graves as the man observed her dripping pink cunt the same way he might look at a painting in a gallery.

Obedience’s thighs tensed and she jerked when the man gave a long, slow lick between her thighs, kissing the base of her cock softly before he moved to repeat the movement. When his tongue plunged into her cunt, stroking over the tense guardian muscle, she couldn’t help but squeak softly, staring down at the man between her thighs. A broad palm rested upon the soft curve of her stomach, knuckles bumping against her slowly hardening cock every so often as the man groaned and lapped eagerly at her wet depths.

“Such a temptation.” Mr. Graves leaned in closer, looming over the slender frame of his child before he rubbed his palm fully against Obedience’s dripping pussy, his other arm bracing across her stomach to pin her in place. He groaned at the taste, lapping and sucking at the soft flesh, wringing a shivering orgasm from the girl as she arched and let out a thready wail.

Only then did he sink his wooden finger into her. Obedience jerked, thrusting against the digit, kissing and nuzzling at the base of her cock, licking at the hardening, twitching flesh. One, two, three fingers, curling and pressing at that tender little sweet spot inside her, making her cunt drool along his thick knuckles. When Mr. Graves pulled his fingers free she felt like he had carved out a hole inside her, leaving her wide and vulnerable and open to him. 

“Daddy-”

The man didn’t hesitate to open his slacks, pressing his thick, hard cock into her, making Obedience squirm and her voice whine through the air as her thighs trembled on either side of her father’s waist. Mr. Graves sank slowly into the silky soft depths, the girl’s stomach jumping with each gentle press and thrust. It didn’t take much longer for the man to speed up, Obedience’s spine arching as she grasped at the sheets so hard she almost tore the fine fabric. 

“Do you like that? Like being fucked open by Daddy’s cock?” 

“Yes, Daddy, I love it.” Obedience whimpered, staring at the man, jumping when she felt his fingers slip down, further back between her thighs, circling her ass gently before the man pulled out.

“On your knees, schatzi.” He ordered, watching as Obedience knelt on the bed, her pert little ass in the air, legs spread as she stared right ahead. “Look at you... So perfectly obedient.” The man groaned and his thumb easily hooked into the tight furl of the girl’s ass, murmuring a spell to slick her up, Obedience letting her head fall forward as he thrust back into her cunt. A few thrusts and suddenly the girl was gasping, Graves’ two fingers thrusting into her ass, rubbing against the thin wall separating his fingers from his cock, making the girl’s lips part around desperate, constant moans. “Every bit of you is mine, isn’t it?” 

When he pulled out this time it only served to make Obedience’s cunt gape and clench on nothing even longer, her entire body trembling as she arched her spine, trying desperately to get more. Mr. Graves paused, his hand kneading at the girl’s thighs and cheeks, pulling her open so that he could watch the tip of his cock rub against the tight furl of her entrance. 

“O-oh, Daddy... Daddy, it’s not going to fit.” She whimpered, biting her lip and thinking of the too-full feeling of his fingers, impossible to imagine how full she’d feel with her father’s cock inside her.

“Of course it will, sweetling.” Mr. Graves pressed forward and grunted as the head of his cock popped in easily, the girl tensing as he thrust slowly forward until their hips were flush together. 

He gave a few languid thrusts until the girl’s body relaxed, Obedience resting her head upon the sheets, now streaked with tears of pleasure and sweat from the girl’s temples. When the girl finally relaxed enough that the thrusts came slick and easy, Mr. Graves pulled back, rubbing his cock over her cunt before thrusting inside. Obedience whimpered and moaned, her silky soft walls rippling as she trembled on the verge of coming. Then her father pulled out again, thrusting into her ass once more, his pace getting faster the more he switched between each hole, back and forth, turning the girl into a loose, soaked through mess, oil and slick trailing between her thighs as the girl chased her own orgasm.

When the man let two fingers sink into her cunt, rubbing at the thin wall of flesh between his cock and fingers, she couldn’t contain the desperate mewl that escaped her. “Feel that, babydoll? I can feel myself fucking your sweet, dripping ass.” Mr. Graves grunted as he pressed forward, stroking the girl’s cock with his free hand and feeling her tremble and tense as he came inside her, the hot fluid dripping out of Obedience even with his cock still inside her. When he pulled back he couldn’t help but groan at the loose holes, unable to close completely, the pink gape of the girl’s ass dripping with come as she whimpered and shook.

“Look at that, look at how perfect and pink you are.” Mr. Graves groaned, leaning down to lick and moan at the open gape of the girl. He suckled at the base of her cock, licking gently at the soft, tender skin, watching the way Obedience became hard, slowly, eagerly under the attention. His finger slipped back into her pussy, pushing the wet digits past her guardian muscle before he leaned forward to suckle and lick between the digits, tasting the sweet, thick taste of her slick. His fingers curled and Obedience let out eager, starved little gasps as his tongue slipped deeper, eager and warm. 

“Daddy... Daddy, please.” Her entire body was a single line of tension and when Mr. Graves finally curled his fingers just so and suckled gently at the tip of her cock, she couldn’t help the scream that had been perched beneath her vocal cords. It clawed and scraped out of her throat, filling the room just as surely as the Obscurus once might have, her walls tightening around the man’s thick fingers as hot, gushing clear liquid covered his wrist, soaked through the cuff of his shirt.

Embarrassment welled up inside her and she bit her lip, only to gasp when the man began to lap at the wetness on her thighs, groaning and licking up the sweet slick of her orgasm.

“Such a sweet little thing. Every bit of you.” He murmured, eyes fixed upon Obedience as she trembled and shivered beneath his attention, reaching hesitant fingers down to spread herself open even more for her father. The groan that escaped him vibrated up through Obedience’s core as he pressed his lips against hers in a sloppy kiss, his tongue brushing her tense guardian muscle and his nose pressing to the base of her cock.

She felt decadent and tingling and breathless, as if her senses had been drowned in giggle-water or champagne and she never wanted to be without it.

“I love you, Obedience.” He whispered, the words brushing straight through her core and tingling along her skin as she gasped for breath that suddenly felt so scarce, so scant, as surely as if Mr. Graves had held her head down beneath the surface of that glittering fountain she was drowning in.

And oh, if this was what it was like to drown, to die a little death with every touch he used to tease out her gasping, shuddering breaths, she could happily die.


	4. The Incomplete Chapters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> These chapters are the ones that I had the best intentions of writing, but life got in the way of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE NOTE THAT THIS FIC IS LARGELY UNEDITED. THIS INCLUDES SOME EVENTS THAT MIGHT SEEM LIKE THEY'RE IN THE WRONG PLACE, SOME EXPOSITION THAT DOESN'T TAKE PLACE ANYWHERE, AND GENERALLY MISSING EVENTS.
> 
> IT IS ALSO INCOMPLETE. THE FINAL CHAPTER OF THIS FIC WILL CONSIST OF THE NOTES I MADE FOR THE CONTINUED SCENES.
> 
> I WILL NOT BE COMPLETING THIS FIC, SO DO NOT ASK.

Chapter

Credence had been ill for most of the week. Unable to keep much of anything down, aching and sore and exhausted. He had insistently begged Percival to take him to MACUSA, to let him stay in the secret room, only to get there and fall into fitful sleep.

 

Chapter

Credence wants to rebel a little bit because Graves is being even more restrictive than normal, so he accepts Tom’s offer to take him to dinner, even though Graves had said that Credence couldn’t go out that night. Tom gets stood up at the restaurant and comes home to find Credence sprawled over Graves’ lap, ass red from a spanking, and Credence fast asleep while Graves asks “you just don’t get it, do you, Tommy boy?”

Just calmly locks the door behind him, starts rolling up his sleeves. "A bit warm in here, isn't it?" Goes about getting his own glass of scotch, rolls a cigarette and puts it between his lips. "You know I've never had a wife, Tommy boy. Poor Obedience never got to know her mother. Beautiful woman, by the way, tightest cunt I ever had." He's staring at Tom and he smirks. "Well. That's a lie. Second tightest." takes a drag of the cigarette. "But I knew something that you don't, Tommy boy." Grabs Tom's face and slams him into the coffee table, taking another drag of the cigarette before hovering it over his eye. "You can look at pretty things all you want, might even get a taste of them now and then, but you don't fucking take what isn't yours, you got that? So when I say that I'm not going to let you near my daughter's pussy you best believe that if I find out you even opened your fly within the same room as her I will hack it off with a pair of garden shears."

 

Chapter

Graves arranging for a decline in the No-Maj stock market and Tom starts to have to sell things and borrow money. He signs away more rights to Credence that he had. 

 

Chapter

Graves buys Credence the brownstone next door and says it’s Credence’s special “play house” where he can “practice for the babies”. Tom is shocked and appalled and Graves is so incredibly indulgent. 

 

Chapter

Graves is obsessed with Credence’s bump and will talk to it constantly whenever they’re home together. Tom isn’t even allowed to touch Credence at all during this time. 

 

Chapter

Credence gives birth and Tom is out drinking during that time. Graves names the baby Adrian Graves and signs the birth certificate in secret. When Credence awakens he’s absolutely enamoured with Adie.

 

Chapter

Tom doesn’t realise that Credence has given birth until he sees the picture of Graves standing proudly over the hospital bed where Credence and Adie are in the news stand. He’s enraged and goes to shout at them, but Graves stops him from reaching the master bedroom.  
“Someone had to step in, and since you were too busy being a slobbering drunk then I had to step in and name the child.”

 

Chapter

Credence’s recovery is slow but he doesn’t worry about it. Graves takes to applying salve to Credence’s cunt post-partum and taking care of everything that aches and hurts.

 

Chapter

Doctor Saperstein assesses both Credence and Adie and declares them both perfectly healthy. Everyone at MACUSA notices that Adie looks nothing like Tom.

 

Chapter

Tom banging on the door one afternoon while Credence and Adie are napping and trying to barge in to get them, sending Credence into a panic. Graves arrives and drags Tom downstairs before he goes up to tend to his panicking sons.  
“Do you know what you’ve fucking done, Tom? Do you even have any idea what sort of delicate state Credence is in right now?”  
“I just... I just wanted to see them. I didn’t think-”  
“Oh yes, that seems to be the main problem, isn’t it, Tommy? You don’t fucking think.”

 

Chapter

Tom trying to snatch Adie away from Credence and Credence goes for his eyes, slashing across his face and shrieking in rage. Graves gets summoned but Tom has already apparated away. Graves firecalls Tina before tending to Credence. Tina finds Tom and drags him into a windowless room in MACUSA where Graves shows up to teach him a proper lesson.  
“Director Graves, if anyone ever found out about what we’re doing then we’d be thrown into the Oubliette.”  
“Pass me those no maj gardening shears, Goldstein.”  
“Good choice, sir.”

 

Chapter

Tom sees Graves fucking Credence in the foyer, Graves tearing open Credence’s shirt and fucking him like his life depends on it. When Graves comes he looks up and stares directly at Tom and keeps thrusting into Credence until Credence comes with a sob and a wail.  
“Do you get it now, Tommy boy?”

 

Chapter

Credence sits with Rosemary in the nursery one afternoon, talking about the new babies, and Credence presents Rosemary with a little doll apron, bonnet and socks and asks if she would like to help take care of the babies. “Mr. Graves said I could pay you an actual wage and everything. I understand if you want to leave, but no one should own anyone else... And I want you to be a proper part of this family.”  
Adie calls Rosemary “Nanna” and the subsequent children do as well.

 

Chapter

The stock market crashes and Credence is announced to have twins and Tom knows they’re Graves’. He goes out and picks up a prostitute that Graves had paid to go approach Tom and be photographed with him. Tom’s reputation is in shambles as it is and when Tom fucks the prostitute that’s the last straw. 

 

Chapter

Tom tries to rape Credence and Credence screams as Tom demands to know who the father of the children is, knows it’s not him, demands to know if it’s Graves. Gilbert stops him, tearing him off of Credence and Graves arrives just in time. Credence’s memory is wiped of the trauma and Graves goes to Tom.

Graves speaks with Tom and convinces him that suicide is the only way out. Tom is left alone and he performs the Avada Kedavra on himself.

 

Chapter

Graves goes to Seraphina and talks to her about the legality of marrying Credence to prevent another “Tom Debacle” occurring. With several lawyers, advisors, and an incredible amount of red tape, Graves is declared to be Credence’s legal father, guardian, and husband.


End file.
